To Sin With A Scoundrel

by Cara Elliott

  A fellow member of the Circle of Sin, the marchesa was also a widow and had a daughter the same age as her son. Having experienced her own share of personal travails in Italy, Alessandra had gone out of her way to include Peregrine in the everyday activities that made life seem… normal for a child.

  At the moment, the three of them were spending a fortnight in Bath, where some ancient Roman ruins had recently been unearthed. Ciara allowed a small smile. An expert in archeology as well as chemistry, Alessandra had been eager to observe up close the initial digging. And so had the children.

  The fresh air and open fields would do Peregrine a world of good.

  As for herself…

  The chime of the clock roused her from such unsettling reveries. Shoving the past aside, Ciara hurried to mix the last ingredient into the bubbling potion before leaving for the meeting. As she reached for her shawl, her glove grazed a small blood-red notebook lying beneath the fringed silk.

  She quickly added it to her reticule.

  After all, hadn’t Hippocrates written that humor was one of the most potent medicines known to man—or woman? Following the regular agenda of the meeting, her friends might find her latest additions to their other on-going scholarly research amusing.

  It was far more than an hour later when Lucas finally staggered to his feet and refastened his breeches. “I really must be off,” he muttered, gathering up his rumpled coat and cravat. Turning for the terrace, he cocked a last salute to his friends. “Enjoy the country. I fear that London is going to be a bore without your company.”

  “Then stay,” called Greeley.

  He shook his head. “No, I must atone for all my recent sins of neglect by visiting my uncle today.”

  Farnam caught up to him on the stairs. “Er, see here, Lucas, are you sure that you have no objection if I step in to fill the void with Mathilde… so to speak?”

  “None whatsoever. Nature abhors a vacuum,” replied Lucas with some cynicism.

  “Er…” Farnam cast him a puzzled look.

  “Never mind. It’s merely one of the many scientific observations my uncle is fond of pointing out.” Lucas quickened his step, anxious to order his valise packed and his team of grays harnessed. “You are welcome to avail yourself of Mademoiselle M’s company.”

  “That’s awfully sporting of you.” Farnam grinned and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Admit it— all this talk about your uncle is pishposh. I take it you are running back to an even more delectable morsel.”

  Lucas was loath to confess the truth. “What do you think?” he drawled.

  His friend let out an admiring whistle. “You have the devil’s own luck with women.”

  Or was it a curse? Sometimes he couldn’t help but wonder if everything came just a little too easily for him. The truth was, the lack of a challenge had left him feeling bored of late.

  Brushing off such unsettling thoughts, he flicked a mote of dust from his sleeve. “Care for a bit of advice?”

  “Hell, yes!”

  “The secret is in not giving a damn.”

  “Er, about what?”

  “About anything at all.”

  Chapter Two

  Still upset by the ugly snippet of gossip, Ciara decided to vent her agitation by walking through the park rather than taking a hackney to her meeting. It was still unfashionably early, and the day was cool, with scudding clouds, so the chances of encountering anyone who might recognize her were slim.

  And what did it matter if someone made a snide comment? One more nasty word could hardly do any further damage.

  Turning down one of the side carriage paths, Ciara quickened her pace, edging onto the grassy verge to stay deep in the leafy shadows of the trees. Preoccupied with her thoughts, she wasn’t aware of having company until a trilling laugh brought her up short.

  “Come now, Annabelle, now that you’ve dragged us to this secluded spot, you simply must tell us all about that magnificent beast you’ve taken into your bed.”

  Ciara looked up with a start. Through the netting of her veil, she recognized Lady Annabelle Merton, a renowned beauty of the ton, strolling along the graveled path, arm in arm with Lady Caroline Guilford and Lady Mary Hurlbutt.

  She froze, praying that her dark clothing would blend into the shade and allow her to go unseen.

  Dear God, don’t let them look around.

  But the trio were too busy talking to notice they weren’t alone.

  “Yes, do give us all the delicious details.” Another loud titter. “Is Hadley as good a lover as all the rumors say?”

  Hadley. Ciara grimaced. The man seemed to be on everyone’s tongue this morning.

  Lady Merton fingered the curling plume of her stylish bonnet. “He’s absolutely divine, Caro,” she replied with a cat-in-the-creampot purr. “You’ve seen for yourself those broad shoulders and sculpted thighs. I assure you, every other part of his body is equally impressive.”

  “Is it true that he’s hung like a stallion and has the stamina of a racehorse?” asked Lady Hurlbutt eagerly.

  “Let us just say that the earl takes a lady on quite a wild ride.”

  As the trio dissolved into knowing laughter, Ciara was about to retreat and take another route. But they suddenly stopped and formed a more intimate circle, so she dared not move.

  “His performance is perfectly splendid, even after several times around the track,” went on Lady Merton. “I vow, the man can go on from dusk to dawn without a hitch in his stride.” Her gloved hand gave a little flutter. “But, my dears, it is not just his own pleasure that Hadley cares about. The earl believes that both mount and rider should enjoy the gallop.”

  Enjoy? Ciara was sure she must have misunderstood. In her experience, sex was naught but a hurried humping—an awkward, painful process that a female was expected to endure but certainly not enjoy.

  And yet, Lady Guilford heaved a breathy sigh. “You are the luckiest lady in London.”

  “I have heard that some rakes are very skilled with their fingers,” pressed Lady Hurlbutt.

  “Mmm, Hadley has very clever hands,” replied Lady Merton. “But it’s his sinfully sensuous mouth that does such delicious things to a lady’s most intimate places.”

  “You mean to say… the Grotto of Venus?” asked Lady Hurlbutt.

  Lady Guilford let out a gasp. “He doesn’t. Not down there.”

  “Oh, but he does. Lush little licks, tiny teasing nibbles…”

  Ciara had never in her life heard such shockingly explicit talk. Her ears were burning, but in spite of her loathing for gossip, she found herself straining to hear more. It was merely out of scientific curiosity, she reasoned.

  However, the details were cut off by the sound of an approaching carriage.

  “Well, speak of the devil,” murmured Lady Guilford.

  “Good afternoon, ladies.” The deep, masculine voice sounded a little rough around the edges. Its raffish tone was echoed by the gentleman’s appearance. Beneath a high-crown beaver hat, his long black hair fell in wind-tangled disarray around the collar of his driving coat. A dark stubbling shaded the strong line of his jaw, and his eyes—

  Ciara quickly took shelter between two oak trees.

  Set off by his sun-bronzed skin, his eyes were a mesmerizing shade of sapphire blue. The infamous earl in the flesh. As he smiled, she felt her breath catch in her throat. He might be a scoundrel, but there was no denying that he was handsome as sin.

  A dark, dangerous devil.

  “La, Hadley,” called Lady Merton. “What a surprise. I read in this morning’s newspaper that you had left Town.”

  “I had,” he answered. “But a pressing matter required my return.”

  “I hope you haven’t taken a chill, sir,” said Lady Merton with a saucy laugh. “Bathing outdoors in the damp night air can be very unhealthy.”

  “So I have been told.” His lips curled up at the corners. “Luckily I’ve suffered no lasting ill effects. But in the future I shall b
e more discerning. Cold water leaves much to be desired.” His lidded gaze slowly fixed on Lady Merton. “As I recall from a certain summer afternoon in Kent, submerging in a tub of sparkling champagne is a far more pleasant experience.”

  Her two friends giggled.

  “Its effervescence arouses a delightful tickling sensation in”—the earl winked—“in places which I shouldn’t mention in polite company.”

  “Naughty man!” Lady Merton laughed. “Now that you are back, I expect you to call on me soon.”

  “I shall try not to disappoint you, madam,” replied the earl. “Do forgive me, ladies, but I must be off. I’m already a trifle late.” With a jaunty salute, he flicked his whip.

  As Hadley passed, his eyes seemed to linger for an instant on the shadowed spot between the trees. Ciara flinched as if touched by an open flame, even though she knew he could not possibly see her.

  “You are never a disappointment, Hadley,” murmured Lady Merton, watching him until he disappeared around the bend. Sighing, she looked back to her friends. “Shall we stop at Guenter’s for lemon ices before returning to my townhouse?”

  Ciara waited for them to move on and then slipped from her hiding place and hurried on her way.

  Lady Charlotte Gracechurch Fenimore repressed an unladylike snort.

  Having finished with their formal agenda, The ‘Sinners’ had circled their chairs around the tea table and were engaged in reading Ciara’s latest additions to the Little Red Book.

  “Perhaps we should consider shortening the title of our magnum opus,” continued Charlotte. “Instead of ‘The Immutable Laws of Male Logic—A Scientific Study Based on Empirical Observations,’ we could call it ‘Men—An Essential Compendium to Managing the Brutes.’”

  “Ha, ha, ha.” Lady Ariel Gracechurch, who at age sixty-five was the younger of the two Gracechurch sisters, peered over Charlotte’s shoulder. Unlike her sibling, she had never been married. “Oh, I like your touch of using scarlet ink for the headings, Ciara. Was it meant to emphasize the self-indulgence of their behavior?”

  “More like their sheer bloody-mindedness.” Charlotte snapped the journal shut. Arthritic knees were beginning to slow her step, but her wit was as quick as ever. “I take it Sheffield’s nephew paid you another visit this past week.”

  Ciara gave a tiny nod.

  Kate Woodbridge grimaced. “Don’t tell me he’s trying to bleed more money out of you.” Although she was, at age twenty-two, the youngest of the five ‘Sinners,’ Kate more than made up for her tender years in worldly experience. “The slimy little gilipollas.”

  “Language, my dear,” reminded Ariel.

  “Oh, I know a lot worse words than that,” said Kate darkly. The daughter of an American sea captain—some high sticklers were more apt to call him a pirate—and an English mother, she had spent much of her youth in exotic ports around the globe, acquiring an expertise in botany. Not to speak of a multilingual fluency in cursing that would put a sailor to blush.

  “Er, yes, I am sure you do. Just remember that saying them aloud in Polite Society will get you in hot water.”

  “Not you, too.” Kate made a face. “His Grace has already lectured me on the subject of proper English manners.”

  Ciara sighed in sympathy. She was not the only one having trouble with a family member. A deathbed promise to her fever-stricken parents had forced Kate to seek reconciliation with her maternal grandfather. But things were not sailing along very smoothly.

  “But let’s not worry about my family travails,” added Kate after a slight pause. “It’s Ciara we are concerned about.”

  “Oh, Arthur is harmless enough,” murmured Ciara. “He reminds me of a sulky child.”

  “Don’t they all,” muttered Charlotte. Mild-mannered about most things, she tended to turn a tad sardonic when financial matters were discussed. Her own late husband had hidden a ruinous weakness for gambling, which had nearly landed her on the street.

  In spite of her worries, Ciara found herself smiling. She counted the decision to attend a lecture at the Royal Botanical Society two years ago as one of the most fortunate choices of her life. A chance encounter with the sisters had blossomed into a deep-rooted friendship. Their tart humor made her laugh, which had been a godsend during the bleak months after Sheffield’s death. But they also possessed a more serious side, sharing their hard-won wisdom and experience with heartwarming generosity. In many ways, the sisters had become surrogate mothers to the three younger members of the circle, mused Ciara. Both Kate and Alessandra…

  Charlotte cleared her throat.

  Realizing that her friends were waiting for her to go on, Ciara replied, “Arthur’s mother is a terrible harridan.” She had never liked her late husband’s sister. “No wonder he drinks to excess.”

  “That’s the least of his faults,” said Ariel. “Cousin Archibald says the young man has taken to playing vingt-un at one of the more disreputable gaming hells in Town. Apparently he has trouble counting past ten, for he’s lost a considerable sum over the last quarter.”

  “That’s hardly surprising.” Ciara set down her cup. “Gambling for high stakes seems to be a weakness that runs in the Sheffield family.” Along with a number of other nasty vices, though she kept that bit of information to herself. Her friends knew how unhappy her marriage had been. No reason to reveal all the sordid details.

  “You aren’t in any danger of losing the townhouse, are you?” Kate’s brow creased in concern. “Or your money? It was, after all, yours to begin with.”

  Ciara shook her head. “My man of affairs assures me the legalities are quite clear. The inheritance left to me by my grandfather cannot be touched, so Lady Battersham is not really a threat.” She said it lightly, but she felt her cheeks pale on recalling the note her nephew had brought from his mother, along with his wheedling request for a loan. “Even though she is dropping new hints about seeking formal guardianship of Peregrine—which would of course include control of his inheritance.”

  “Don’t underestimate the old Bat,” counseled Charlotte. “Like a vampire, she’s out for blood. Preferably yours.”

  “Seeing as Sheffield and the coroner did not succeed in sucking the life out of me, I daresay I shall survive any further attacks from his sister,” replied Ciara.

  Despite the announcement, Ariel looked troubled. “I applaud your courage. However, I’m worried over these new stories. It seems to me that the attacks by Sheffield’s family are escalating.”

  Kate cleared her throat. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but I saw a new satirical print by Gilray hanging in a shop window this morning. It… well, it wasn’t pretty.”

  A sigh slipped from Ariel’s lips. “I should like to set all our joking aside and speak to you frankly, Ciara.”

  It was one thing to dissect the inner workings of a Cynara cardunculus under a microscope, but to have her own feelings subject to scrutiny, even by her closest friends, was not something Ciara wished to encourage. Still, as she looked down at the dregs of her tea, she gave a reluctant nod.

  “Unlike me, you are still young and possess both beauty and brains,” said Ariel. “I would hate to think you have hardened your heart to the idea of ever meeting a man worthy of respect. There are some admirable members of the opposite sex.”

  “Ariel does have a point,” murmured Charlotte. “From a purely practical point of view, marriage would offer a measure of protection—”

  “So would a mastiff,” muttered Ciara. “And I wouldn’t have to let it sleep in my bed.”

  “Ciara!” Despite her diminutive size, Ariel could match the booming shout of an artillery officer.

  Kate stifled a laugh.

  “Oh, very well. I concede that the possibility exists.” Ciara paused. “In theory.”

  “I am quite serious, my dear. Charlotte is right—we can’t ignore the fact that Sheffield’s family is growing more vocal of late. I fear they mean to stir up new trouble. And it’s my opinion that this problem calls
for a change in strategy,” announced Ariel after a few moments of silence. “We will, of course, continue to attack scientific conundrums in our weekly meetings. But we are also going to have to marshal our forces for a different sort of engagement…”

  Engagement. Ciara choked on a bite of biscuit.

  “Why, what a brilliant idea, Ariel! You are quite right. A campaign to find Ciara a suitable husband is in order.” Charlotte drummed a military tattoo on the tabletop. “We should be able to squeeze that in between writing a rebuttal to Asherton’s Treatise on Chemistry and cataloguing the new shipment of botany specimens from Jamaica.”

  “Any idea of where to begin looking?” Ciara could not keep an edge of sarcasm from her voice. Her eyes fell on the newspaper beneath the tea tray, and she felt her cheeks begin to burn as she recalled her recent encounter. “Oh, well, I suppose we could always start with the gossip column. I see the infamous Lord H’s name appears in boldface type… look there, just three lines below my own.”

  Charlotte bit at her lip, but Ariel was quick to regroup. “Well, he is devilishly handsome. With those flowing, black-as-sin locks and smoldering sapphire eyes, it’s no wonder he has seduced half of Society. And the cut of his trousers reveals a pair of divinely muscled thighs.” She paused. “He also has a wicked sense of humor, to go along with those sculpted legs. The limericks he recited at Lady Wilton’s ball had me laughing so hard it brought tears to my eyes.”

  “The man may be a rogue and a rascal, but at least he’s not boring,” mused Charlotte.

  Amusement won out over indignation. Ciara laughed. “I could not ask for more loyal or stalwart friends. But honestly, even if I were interested in remarrying—which I am not—Lord Hadley would be the last man on earth I would consider.”

  “Now, my dear,” said Ariel quickly. “No one is seriously suggesting that the earl would make an ideal husband. However, it is the principle we need to consider. I am sure if we put our heads together, we can come up with a list of more acceptable candidates.”

  “After all, we solved Thackery’s theorem of calculus in three days.” Kate, who had been listening in silent mirth, finally schooled her face to some semblance of seriousness. “This is not nearly so complex an equation—one plus one equals two.”