The Secrets of a Scoundrel

by Gaelen Foley

  “What happened?”

  “The girl Burke was courting at the time was the bane of our lives—­all the other debs, I mean. I won’t mention any names, but she was a horrid little beauty. Arrogant, spoiled in the extreme. Had to be the center of attention at all times.”

  “I know the type.”

  “She wheedled her way into favor with the Patronesses of Almack’s, then began her reign of terror. As our first Season wore on, this young lady took to the habit of bullying my dear friend, Elizabeth. Torturing her in Society with mockery and intimidation. So I decided to put the queen bee in her place.”

  “By stealing her beau?”

  “Precisely. It was shockingly easy. But I never anticipated that I would then be forced to marry him—­for appearances’ sake.”

  Nick winced. “Poor thing.”

  “It wasn’t so bad. His family did own diamond mines.”

  “Well, there’s a consolation.”

  She shook her head, shrugged, and let out a sigh. “I suppose it was no worse than any Society match.”

  Nick pondered this for a moment, staring into his wineglass. “Did he ever find out the real reason you first began pursuing him?”

  “Oh, yes. That was pleasant.” When he glanced at her, he could see she had not anticipated this question.

  The smile faded from her face. A shadow passed behind her eyes. “It became difficult after a time to hide my true feelings.”

  Disgust, Nick realized. He paused. “Was that what sent him off to war?”

  “Yes, and he never returned.” She gave him a look that informed him this was all she intended to say on the topic.

  He did not press for more.

  They lapsed into silence as they continued eating. But every now and then, he looked at her, more intrigued than ever. She barely knew him, so why tell a virtual stranger such an intimate story? Why share what must have been the most devastating mistake of her young life?

  Maybe she was trying to show him that he wasn’t the only one who had ever made a misstep, considering where she had found him. It was generous of her if that was her motive.

  Nick lowered his gaze, but even when they brought out the exact dessert he had requested, he eyed her with furtive uncertainty.

  He still had no idea what to make of her: the sensual baroness, the carefree widow, the lady detective?

  Countless questions about her swam through his mind as they finished the meal and repaired to the drawing room, where she offered him a cheroot and, to his surprise, took one for herself.

  “You smoke?” he exclaimed.

  “On occasion. You disapprove?” she drawled.

  “Just surprised. Not the done thing for ladies, I thought. Or have things changed so much since they locked me up?” he asked in amusement as he held the match for her, then lit his own.

  “No, you’re right. I’m an odd duck. Always have been.” She smiled as she puffed on the cheroot to get the tip fully lit. He did the same. “Terrible habit, isn’t it? I picked it up from my father.”

  “So did I,” he replied.

  “Let’s step outside, shall we? I don’t want the smell to get in the house.” She slipped her gloved hand through the crook of his elbow and led him through the French doors out onto the terrace.

  “Thank you for the dinner. Especially the apple pie. Extremely thoughtful of you.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  “Cold?” he asked as his breath misted in the night’s crisp chill.

  “Not yet. It feels good. Bracing.”

  He nodded. The November sky was black. She let go of his arm and stepped away from him. Nick tilted his head back and gazed up at the stars.

  It was the first time he’d been outside at night in so very long, stuck in his cell. The white half-­moon wrapped in ebony silk was even more beautiful than he remembered.

  Lady Burke must have noticed his taut silence, for she spoke soothingly of idle things, drawing him back from his momentary anguish with the nearest, easy topic. “Oh, yes, I’ve become a great fan of the leaf from the Carolinas,” she said in a musing tone, inspecting her cheroot. “I know I ought to quit, but somehow I always order more . . . though I tell myself I only keep them on hand for my gentlemen friends.”

  Her words jarred him with a reminder of the various bottles of cologne on the dressing table in the guest chamber he had been assigned. “And do you have many of those here, my lady? Gentlemen visitors at Deepwood?”

  She turned to him in guarded surprise, her slender eyebrows lifted. “A few. From time to time. You disapprove again?”

  “No, of course not. It’s your life. You’re a grown woman.” He paused for a moment. “I just wondered if you have them all inspected for the French disease first.”

  “Ah, I knew you were still peeved about the doctor!” she exclaimed.

  “I think I have a right to be,” he said. “The state of my health is none of your business.”

  “I had to make sure you’re fit for ser­vice.”

  “And what ser­vice might that be, exactly? I’d just like to know what all is going to be expected of me.”

  She had the decency to blush. Indeed, he could feel the blaze pouring off her cheeks in the cool night air. It told him all he needed to know. “You have to trust me, Nick. I do have your best interests at heart.”

  “Right.”

  “What?” she demanded. “What’s the matter?”

  “I agreed to help you, Virginia—­” He used her Chris­tian name with insolence, since she had felt free to use his. “But that doesn’t mean you own me. I’ll kill whoever you want, but I’m not your plaything. Unlike your little toy boy,” he added under his breath.

  Her jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”

  “Well, he is your lover, isn’t he? This chap who’s gone missing.”

  “Not that it’s any of your business—­but, no!”

  “Ah.” He absorbed this, unsure if he believed her. But the vehemence of her denial left him feeling like a bit of an ass. “Then it seems I owe you an apology,” he said in cool, sardonic reproach.

  “Yes, you do,” she declared, staring at him in astonishment. “I suggest you go to bed now, Lord Forrester. The strain of all our travel seems to have robbed you of your manners.”

  He cleared his throat, slightly chastened. “Indeed. Then I bid you a fond good night, my lady.” Avoiding eye contact, he turned to crush out his cheroot in a garden urn filled with sand for that purpose.

  “Lord Forrester!”

  Heading back to the French doors, Nick turned warily.

  “You’re a pretty fellow, but my only interest in you is for the case.”

  “Good,” he answered smoothly. Then he gave her a polite bow and withdrew, his ego smarting.

  At least her tart answer had put his mind at ease about her having ulterior motives.

  He just hoped that, having laid out his boundaries, he did not regret telling her in so many words that he had no desire to bed her. Because that was a bold-­faced lie.

  Good Lord.

  Gin stared after him in fiery indignation, her cheeks still flaming brightly. Blast the man, he was too perceptive by half.

  Clearly, she would have to work harder to hide her wild attraction to him.

  Shaking her head at his barbarity and her own foolishness, she folded her arms across her chest and took another pull off her cheroot, trying to calm down.

  How rude could someone be? And as for her . . .

  Idiot! And here she had thought they could be friends.

  She should have known not to trust his quiet, guarded demeanor tonight. All the while, he had been sitting there seething over the medical exam, she realized. Eyeing her with suspicion, and—­ever the spy—­collecting information on her, which she had freely shared.

  Da
mn, she wished she had not told him the true story of her marriage. Why not just tilt back her head and offer him her jugular?

  She did not even know why she had done it. But, no, if she was honest, on second thought, of course she did.

  She had seen the way he had looked at her husband’s portrait, as though baffled by the match, and she had felt embarrassed. She had always been embarrassed of the weak, lazy, self-­indulgent coward she had married.

  Even though she had brought it on herself, the whole match had been such a bitter disappointment—­especially when, as a girl, she had always expected to end up with some bold, dashing Order hero.

  Well, she mused, if tonight with Nick was any example of what that would have been like, then clearly, she was better off.

  If only he weren’t so beautiful. If only his midnight eyes did not beckon her with his loneliness and need . . .

  Damn it. She shook her head and stared off into the bleakly bare garden, silvered with moonlight. She was going to have to do better than this, be more careful about keeping things businesslike between them.

  The wine at dinner and the darkness of this seductive autumn night was obviously too dangerous, too tempting, when she already had a secret weakness for ­this man—­as though she were still an infatuated seventeen-­year-­old.

  It would not do.

  She cringed to wonder how great a fool she might have made of herself. But no matter. If he had detected her desire for him, it didn’t mean that she had ever intended to act on it. Besides, she would remedy her error merely by treating him all the more coolly on the morrow.

  In any case, it was official: Her father’s problem agent was her headache now.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Gin went down to breakfast with her plan for the day firmly set in her mind.

  After making their final preparations this morning for the dangerous mission ahead, they would set out for London this afternoon.

  By tomorrow night, they should be ready to proceed to the Topaz Room in Southwark, where they would confront Hugh Lowell, the owner of the notorious gambling hell.

  But when Gin stepped into the dining room and inquired of her staff whether Lord Forrester had appeared yet this morning, Mason informed her that His Lordship had been up since dawn and had gone out to the hot springs.

  Gin went motionless, hearing this.

  Though she had told Nick he was welcome to bathe in the hot springs—­that, indeed, it would be good for him after all his injuries—­she had never meant for him to go unchaperoned.

  Her immediate response was a tightening of fear in her chest, then her heart began to pound. God, the cave was so close to the front gates and the perimeter of her property.

  What if he had lied to her staff, merely using a visit to the hot springs as a pretense to cover his escape?

  She was instantly furious at herself for trusting him. An agent willing to abandon the Order itself would surely not hesitate to desert her on her investigation. It was clear he hardly took it seriously, after all, since she was naught but a lowly female. His indignation about the medical exam and their quarrel last night would have only fueled his desire to escape.

  Waving off an offer of breakfast, she clipped out a command that her horse be saddled at once and brought round. Why, oh, why hadn’t she specified to him and her staff that he was not to leave the house unsupervised?

  Why hadn’t she set a guard on him at all times, the way the graybeards had advised and, in truth, had assumed she would do?

  Because I wanted to trust him, she thought as she marched out through the entrance hall and snatched her cloak off the wooden coat-­tree in the corner.

  She wanted him to take this chance to stand up and be the man her father had known Nick had the potential to become. He was so beautiful and fearless, yet so bloody difficult . . .

  She wanted to believe the best of him. That there was still a man worth saving behind the cynicism, bravado, and despair. A man of honor.

  A true knight of the Order.

  We’ll see. Pulling on her coat, she stalked outside into the gray November drear.

  Her tall, powerful dapple gray swiveled his fine head, pricked up his ears, and snuffled a horsey greeting when he saw her. “Morning, Trebuchet.” She gave him a brisk pat, nodded tersely at the groom holding the bridle, then sprang up onto the sidesaddle, gripping the pommel with one hand. The groom handed her a riding crop.

  She nodded to him to back away, then she was off, cantering briskly across the acreage of her estate for the hot-­springs cave, and praying she had not made a huge mistake.

  But one thing was clear. If Nick needed to be treated like a convict, as she had been warned, then that was precisely what she’d do.

  If he was not already long gone.

  The drizzly morning’s chill seeped into her bones and made steam rise from her horse’s spotted hide. The bare, sparse branches raked the leaden skies overhead; from beneath her horse’s flying hooves, chunks of emerald turf flew up as she cantered across the green expanse of lawn.

  But when she guided Trebuchet into the woods, following the well-­worn path to the cave, the thick blanket of wet fallen leaves crushed underfoot filled the damp air with the smell of autumn.

  Surely, Nick was not that dishonorable, she thought, her stomach still churning with dread as the muddy path rose toward the cave’s mouth. He might be many things, but surely he would not abandon her when she had explained how he was the only one who could help her get the required game piece to the vile Bacchus Bazaar.

  Innocent girls’ lives were at stake.

  As the cave’s mossy entrance came into sight, she decided that if he was not in there—­if he was gone—­then she had truly misjudged him. And for that matter, so had her sire. Trying not to jump to conclusions, she would not have to wait much longer to find out.

  Arriving at the cave, she dismounted, steadied her gelding, then tied his reins around a nearby tree.

  Still clutching the riding crop, she lifted the hem of her walking dress to slog through deep mud up to the ankles of her boots, clambering up to the slippery stone entrance of the cave.

  The bubbling pool of medicinal waters lay at the end of the murky tunnel. Inside, the cave was dark and warm, filled with hollow, dripping sounds. The mineral smell was strong, but Gin quickly got used to that.

  Trailing a gloved hand along the smooth limestone wall of the tunnel to guide her on her way, she ventured into the darkness while her eyes adjusted.

  Halfway down the tunnel, she saw a glow of light ahead. The staff left oil lamps and fresh towels here, knowing the hot springs were often used. But Gin remained cautious.

  Just because the lamp was lit did not mean her guest was still here. It could be another ruse, meant to buy him time. Her heart pounded as she neared the end of the tunnel, stopping just in time to avoid stepping with her mud-­coated boots on a pile of clothes near her feet.

  She looked down at them and felt a rush of hope, then immediately glanced ahead toward the pool.

  Her knees went weak with relief.

  He was there, lounging in the water—­his black hair slick with moisture, his arms spread wide, elbows resting along the stone edge of the pool.

  With his head tipped back, his eyes were closed, the harsh angles of his face softened with sensual pleasure.

  Gin swallowed hard at the sight of his glistening body. She stepped around the pile of his clothes, drifting nearer, her heart pounding. His lifted his lashes and gazed at her with a lazy smile, the fire in his coal black eyes banked to a golden glow. “Am I ever glad I listened to you,” he greeted her in a purr.

  Gin smiled, hoping that the riot of her emotions upon finding him here did not show too plainly on her face. She was so relieved he had not run off on her that she did not know what to say.

  Secretly chastene
d that she had doubted him, she tried her best to seem natural—­and not to stare too much. With a discreet gulp, she lowered her gaze to toy with her riding crop.

  Nick eyed the object curiously. “Just what are you planning on doing with that, dare I ask?”

  “Oh, um, nothing. I just . . . forgot to leave it in the saddle holder. I rode up here,” she added.

  “Ah.” He nodded slowly, staring at her. Reading her once again, she feared. “Are you going to join me?”

  Her eyes widened; her head snapped up to meet his gaze.

  “The water’s blissful,” he added, his midnight eyes full of dangerous invitation.

  This from a man who had informed her in no uncertain terms last night that there would be no naughtiness between them.

  She wondered at how many women had wanted to strangle him over the years.

  “No, I—that is, we need to get our day started. Ahem.” She cleared her throat and looked around at the rocky protrusions of the cave walls. Anywhere but at him. “I hate to ruin your fun, but we’ve got work to do. We leave for Town this afternoon.”

  He heaved a great sigh. “As you wish, my lady.” Nick sank down into the water, disappearing, and then he stood up, visible to the waist. He brushed the water off his face, then squeezed it out of his slick hair, shrugging his broad shoulders, and flexing his neck from side to side.

  He let out a sigh of satisfaction: Gin could not take her eyes off him. The muscled elegance of his sculpted body filled her with raw yearning.

  He turned around and climbed, naked, out of the pool. Her pulse pounded, her mouth watering, as her stare slid down the strong, sweeping lines of his lower back to his taut buttocks and his lightly furred thighs.

  He grabbed a towel, dried himself a bit, then wrapped it around his waist, turning back to her. “I know I had some clothes on when I got here. Now where the devil did I . . . ?”

  “Here,” she meant to tell him, but her voice had disappeared.

  “Ah, there you are.” He approached his clothes, his body warm and glowing, a relaxed expression on his face that made him seem almost like another man entirely.