Never Seduce a Scoundrel

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She poked his chest again. “So I know perfectly well how to pinch pennies. I know all about heating bricks in the fireplace to keep one’s feet warm because one can’t afford a fire going all night. I know a hundred ways to cook the fish freely available in our pond, and I can tell you exactly how to make rushes when even tallow candles are too dear. And furthermore—”

  He caught her finger in midpoke. “Enough,” he said gruffly as he engulfed her hand in his. “I take your point.”

  But she wasn’t finished. “Was I happy when Dolly came along with her money and her generous kindness and made my life easier? When I could leave behind a life of drudgery and cheese-paring for the possibility of a real future in London? When instead of reading about adventures other people had, I could go to museums and exhibits and talk to a general like Lord Pomeroy personally? Yes, I confess it. I was delighted.”

  Her anger riding her, she snatched her hand free of his. “But I could return to living on pennies in a second if need be. Whatever you believe of me, I know how to survive very well on very little. And if you think I’ll let you dictate how and when to spend whatever money comes to me through our marriage—”

  “Pax, darlin’.” Catching her head in his hands, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “Pax, I beg you. I didn’t know your family troubles. I just assumed—”

  “That I was a frivolous chit who cares only about jewelry and nice gowns and who will spend you into debt.” She pushed him away, not the least mollified by his attempt to smooth over her temper with a kiss.

  He frowned. “I didn’t say that.”

  “Oh, yes, you did. At the tea. You said that money was the only thing that matters to a woman.”

  “Damn it, Amelia, I was angry at you that day because I thought you’d refused to have dinner with me. I didn’t mean any of that.” Leaving her side, he strode over to stuff a few things into his knapsack.

  “It certainly sounded as if you did.”

  “We don’t have time for this discussion now,” he said irritably. “Get dressed, and we’ll talk about it in the carriage as much as you please.”

  She wanted to discuss it this minute, but she knew he was right. “Fine.” After shooting him a foul look, she hunted until she found her corset, then slipped it on. “Come tighten my laces, please.”

  He glanced at her. “Just leave the corset off. We’ve got a long trip ahead of us. You’ll be more comfortable.”

  “I’ll be more comfortable with it on,” she countered. Then it dawned on her why he wanted it left off. “But comfort has nothing to do with it, does it?”

  He snuffed the candle on the table. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You want me to leave off my corset because you don’t want anything hampering your lascivious enjoyments. But if you think I’ll let you touch me after the things you’ve been saying—”

  “Christ, woman!” He whirled on her, his eyes glittering like ice in the firelight. “This is exactly why I never married. Because I never hankered to have some female pestering me with her sharp tongue. God knows I heard enough of it from my mother growing up. I sure as hell don’t need it from a wife!”

  The harsh words hung in the air between them, and in that instant, everything made sense. Amelia should have seen it before, especially after Lady Kirkwood had told her about his family.

  It explained so much. Why he was touchy on the subject of money. Why he’d shown contempt not only for the English but for society ladies. Why he’d never once mentioned his mother, though he’d talked about his father.

  “Your mother was from a wealthy family, wasn’t she?” she said softly. “She had connections and status, like me. Until she married your father.”

  Judging from how the blood drained from his face, she’d guessed the source of his agitation. “I don’t want to discuss my mother right now,” he bit out. “We have to get on the road.”

  “But Lucas, if you won’t even tell me about your family—”

  “Not now, Amelia.” He picked up his pistol case. “Wear the corset or don’t, I don’t give a damn. I’m going downstairs to have the carriage brought around while you dress and pack.” He gestured to the knapsack. “Put your clothes in there with mine. If you’re not waiting at the inn door in fifteen minutes, I swear I’ll come up and carry you down, no matter what your state of undress. Understood?”

  Just that quickly, her anger returned. She thrust out her chin. “Yes, Major. Whatever you say, Major.”

  “Good,” he snapped. “Fifteen minutes, Amelia.”

  And with that, he left.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, she threw the corset at it. He’d effectively made the corset choice for her, hadn’t he? She couldn’t lace it herself. She’d have a hard time even getting the gown on without help.

  Drat the arrogant devil! Hurrying over to where her dirty clothes were folded, she snatched them up and shoved them into the knapsack. If he thought he could order her about like one of his soldiers, he had another think coming. She would not stand for it!

  Stalking over to the bed, she yanked the petticoat on and tied it. She should have known he’d turn into a tyrant the minute they were married. The man had been a beast from the day she’d met him at Lord Kirkwood’s.

  She shimmied into the gown, then froze. It opened in the front, making it easy for her to fasten. What’s more, though it was tight in the bodice and pushed up her breasts a bit high, it fit very well. Papa had never bought her anything that wasn’t either huge or too small for her, but in the space of a few hours at an inn in a tiny Scottish village, Lucas had managed to purchase a gown that fit her.

  Tears welling in her eyes, she sank down onto the bed. Yes, what a tyrant and a beast he was. A tyrant who’d washed her virgin’s blood away last night as tenderly as if she were a babe. A beast who’d had breakfast waiting for her when she rose, who’d bought her new clothing so she wouldn’t have to wear a filthy gown. Who raced to the north of England to save her from a man anyone else would have expected her to marry gladly.

  Lord, but he was a puzzle.

  Dashing the tears from her eyes, she rose and set her shoulders. All right, so he was gruff and had a temper and a dictatorial manner that would try the patience of a saint. But sometimes beneath his belligerence, she glimpsed a man with a very troubled soul, a man who meant well but often went about it wrong. A man she even liked…when he wasn’t plaguing her to distraction.

  Well, it was either learn to live with him or shoot him. And given the number of weapons he routinely carried on his person, she wouldn’t get very far with the latter.

  Her eyes narrowed. There was a third choice, one neither of them had considered. One she didn’t particularly like. But since his honor had compelled him to marry her,he might prefer it. If Dolly proved to be a criminal, it would certainly make matters easier for them.

  She’d just have to see how he reacted when she proposed it—because that would prove whether they could have a real marriage. And if he embraced the third choice, she’d simply have to go along. Even if it broke her heart.

  Chapter Twenty

  Dear Charlotte,

  You must not fret over your charge. You will make yourself ill. Lady Amelia strikes me as someone with a great deal of good sense. She is not going to letany man run roughshod over her.

  Your obedient servant,

  Michael

  After the way he’d lost his temper in the inn, Lucas had prepared himself to endure a tongue-lashing, a fit of rage, or at least some sullen pouting from his new wife in the carriage.

  But Amelia sat quietly across from him wrapped in the woolen cloak he’d bought her, staring thoughtfully out the window as the overcast sky lightened with dawn. With her feet tucked up beneath her she looked so incredibly young it made something twist painfully in his gut.

  Not yet twenty-one, she’d been kidnapped, drugged, and dragged the length of England in the space of a few days. As if that weren’t enough, she’d had to m
arry a man she barely knew just to save her honor. She’d had her innocence stripped from her, and her pride trampled. Yet she could still sit there pensively, like a little girl in a window seat waiting for her daddy to come home.

  Or waiting for her husband to turn into something other than what he was—an American savage. A snarling brute. A man who lost his temper just because his wife offered him her fortune.

  An idiot, who should apologize for being an idiot. And who had no clue how to do so without letting her think she could get round him anytime she liked.

  “It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” she startled him by saying.

  A lump lodged in his throat. “Yes. Beautiful.” Achingly, hauntingly beautiful. Even in the dull gray light, her face bore the luminous glow of an alabaster angel, and it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and beg her to forgive him.

  But that was insanity. Do that, and he might as well open up his chest and direct her exactly where to place the skewer in his heart.

  Still, he couldn’t let her go on thinking him an ogre. He had to show her he could be sensible, reasonable. Not an idiot.

  “Amelia, about the money—”

  “I know, you don’t want my fortune.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want it; it’s that it doesn’t belong to you.”

  She turned an unnervingly clear-eyed gaze on him. “So you say. But I think you’re wrong.”

  “Time will tell,” he said evasively. “So far you’ve told me nothing to prove me wrong.”

  “The truth will come out once we speak to Dolly.” She drew the cloak closer about her. “And when you learn how wrong you are about her, we’ll decide what to do about my fortune.”

  “Maybe we should just agree to save it for our children.”

  An uncertain expression crossed her face. “Do you even want children?”

  He tensed. “Considering that my favorite pastime inevitably leads to them, I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “That’s not what I asked,” she said softly.

  No. What she’d asked was if he was prepared for all the responsibilities of marriage. With a sigh, he jerked his gaze to the window. “I’ve always assumed that marriage would include children, yes.”

  She was silent a long moment. “It occurred to me this morning, Lucas, that…well…we needn’t have a traditional marriage if we don’t want.”

  He froze, his heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

  “We could always live separate lives. Couples do it occasionally. You could leave me here in England while you do as you please. It’s not as if you chose this. You were only trying to do the right thing, and I appreciate that. But you don’t have to take it so far as to actually…well…live with me and support me. You could just continue your bachelor’s life without worrying about a wife or children.”

  A painful weight crushed his chest. They were barely married, yet she wanted to end it already. And in her typically English society way, she’d come up with a tidy solution that wouldn’t offend any of her lofty friends.

  Just him.

  He strove to sound as calm as she did. “And what would you do?”

  “I don’t know. As a married woman, I’d have more freedom. I could travel. Or just live in London.”

  “I see.” He stared out at the desolate mudflats that mirrored his sudden bleak mood. What she said made sense. It would sure simplify his situation. If he had to take Dorothy Frier into custody to capture Theodore Frier, he wouldn’t have to be concerned about Amelia’s feelings on the subject.

  Yet the very thought of it made his stomach churn and his heart falter. Damn her. “I suppose that’s what you’d prefer. Freedom to live as you like, to have as many adventures as you—”

  “No.” When his gaze shot to her, she thrust out her chin. “But it does seem to be what you want. You seem very uneasy with being a husband.”

  In other words, he’d behaved like an ogre, and she meant to make sure he didn’t continue. “I’ll adjust. I’m not going to give you my name, then abandon you. You’re my wife, and that’s the end of it.”

  He was sounding like an arrogant ass again, but he didn’t care. The thought of her leaving struck him to the very heart, and he reacted as any man under siege would. He dug in.

  “Lucas, I’m only saying—”

  “I don’t want to live separately, damn it!”

  “And I don’t want to endure a husband who despises me for forcing him into a marriage he didn’t choose.”

  Now he could see the tears glimmering in her eyes, and the sight of them drove a fist into his gut. “I don’t despise you, darlin’. And surely you know by now that nobody can force me to do anything I don’t want. Not a stubborn ass like me.”

  She blinked back her tears, as if letting them fall would be an insult to her pride. He tried to imagine his mother holding back her tears and failed.

  Forcing a smile, he searched for something to say that would reassure her. “A man can’t live alone all his life, you know. As you pointed out the first night we met, I’m getting a little long in the tooth to be a bachelor.”

  “Practically doddering on the edge of the grave.”

  “Fortunately, I have a young thing like you to nurse me in my old age,” he said, in an attempt at humor.

  “If I don’t kill you first,” she snapped. But her eyes had dried, and her tone was more annoyed than anything.

  He let out a relieved breath. She wasn’t going to leave him. And he hadn’t been forced to beg—or behave too badly—to accomplish it. Thank God.

  “Of course,” she went on, “if we’re to have a real marriage, then I need to know some things.”

  “I rise early, I like my eggs fried, I prefer bacon to ham, and—”

  “Not those sorts of things. I mean important things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Tell me about your parents.”

  He stiffened. He should have known she’d never let him off so easily. “Do I have to?”

  Settling back against the squabs, she gave him a small smile. “I told you about mine.”

  “You told me some about your father, but nothing about your mother.”

  She shrugged. “That’s because I never knew her, never even knew her family. She was a squire’s orphan when Papa met her. Shortly after they married, she died giving birth to me. Dolly is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a mother.”

  No wonder Amelia defended the woman so fiercely.

  “But we’re not talking about me. Tell me about your mother.”

  With a sigh, he laid his head back against the seat. “Not much to tell. She was raised in a fancy house in Virginia with plenty of money and strict Tory parents. My father was a gallant sailor fighting for America’s freedom. She ran off with him to escape her rigid life. But too late, she realized she preferred a rigid life with rich parents to a free life with a poor husband.”

  Amelia cast him a solemn glance. “And you’ve decided that I’m like her.”

  “I thought so at first,” he admitted, “when you were batting your eyelashes and calling me a ‘strapping soldier’ with every breath. Which, by the way, was a very clever way to distract me. You would have made a good spy.”

  “Do you really think so?” Her face lit up as if he’d said she would make a good queen. Then the light died. “You’re only saying that because you don’t want to talk about your parents.”

  At that moment, he wanted so badly to soothe her pride that he would speak any lie. “I’m saying it because it’s true.”

  She snorted. “You saw through my flibbertigibbet role, remember?”

  “Not right away. And I am a man who does investigations. I’m harder to fool than most.”

  “So am I.” She gazed at him with steadfast intent. “Tell me the truth, Lucas. You still think I’m like your mother.”

  “Not exactly.” He smiled faintly. “Somehow I can’t imagine Mother beating up a marquess with a pitcher. But…” He traile
d off, not sure if honesty was such a good idea right now.

  “But?”

  He hesitated, but she wouldn’t let him rest until he told her something . “Once she was settled in a house half the size of the one she’d grown up in, having to raise a child by herself while Father spent most of his time establishing his business, the adventure of her marriage lost its appeal.”

  “No doubt. I wouldn’t fancy raising a child virtually alone, either. If I understand you correctly, she gave up everything for your father, then he was never there.”

  “Because he was working his fingers to the bone trying to please her,” Lucas bit out. “From the day they married, she wanted more money, more gowns, a better house in a finer part of town, prettier dishes—all the things a fancy female craves.”

  “I do hope you’re not implying that I’m a fancy female.”

  On the edge of retorting, he paused to gaze at her stubborn mouth, her lifted chin, her unadorned neck. Yes, she’d indulged in that Egyptian stuff, but he’d never once heard her speak of anything else she wanted to buy. Her jewelry had never seemed extravagant; her gowns were more unusual than costly. Her drawers and her stockings were plain cotton. Though he hadn’t known her long, she’d spent that time in charitable meetings and a tea for her friends, not shopping.

  “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

  That seemed to mollify her, though she drew her cloak even more tightly about her. “You see, Lucas? It’s not so hard to be reasonable, is it?”

  Yet she still sat there remote from him, like a cornered raccoon ready to snap his hand off, and suddenly he couldn’t bear to have her annoyed at him another minute. All right, he probably wasn’t the easiest man to live with, but they’d married each other for more than just practical reasons. Maybe it was time he reminded her of that.

  Shifting to sit next to her on the other side of the carriage, he caught her face in his hands. “I can be a very reasonable man, darlin’, given the right incentive.” As she gazed up at him, startled, he kissed her. Threading his fingers through her hair, he shook it free of its pins and kissed her as if his life depended on it.