Never Seduce a Scoundrel

by Sabrina Jeffries

  I can’t live with a man I can’t trust.

  And could she trust him now? Would she be able to trust him in the future?

  She’d said that as long as he went to France and confirmed Dorothy’s story, she would live with his decision about what to do after that. But he was no fool. If he dragged her family’s name through the mud in some vain attempt to draw out a man who might very well be dead, she would never recover from it.

  It would chip away at her trust of him as surely as his evasions had done. He would lose her. And suddenly, that was just one sacrifice too many in his life.

  “Well then,” he said, turning toward the entrance to the cemetery, “we’re done here. I think it’s time to go home.”

  * * *

  Two weeks had passed since Amelia’s father and husband had gone off to France, and she was fit to be tied. Torquay wasn’t a lively town in the best of times, but in her current state it was excruciating. With little to occupy her, she had far too much time to worry about Lucas.

  The one bright spot was that she and Dolly spent a great deal of time together. That’s when Amelia realized how difficult it must have been for Dolly to deceive them all—because now that she could speak freely, she couldn’t stop talking. She told Amelia about her parents, her childhood in New England, her awful time as a housekeeper in Rhinebeck. She seemed so relieved that her mood was lighter than it had ever been, despite the worry about the future hanging over both their heads. Clearly the secrets of her past had plagued her for some time, and it took an enormous weight off her to have them out in the open. So perhaps Lucas had done some good, after all.

  As long as he didn’t cart Dolly off to America.

  After a suitable time of pretending to be on her honeymoon, Amelia resumed her correspondence with Venetia. Desperate for news, she wrote her friend daily, claiming that she and Lucas were spending time in the country before returning to London.

  From Mrs. Harris, who knew about Lucas’s trip to France, she learned that Lord Pomeroy had come to town and spoken nary a word about her or Lucas. But word had leaked out about his perfidy, and while some dismissed it as rumor, others were giving him the cut direct at parties. More importantly, parents were more careful with their daughters around him, which relieved Amelia enormously.

  From Venetia, however, she heard nothing. She found that odd, given that her first letter had been a lengthy account of her and Lucas’s encounter with the Scottish Scourge. Of course, the London papers had already covered it, quoting the Kirkwoods’ description of the affair and lauding Major Winter and his wife for their successful escape. But Amelia wanted to hear what Venetia might tell her privately about the Scottish Scourge.

  So when a letter finally arrived from her early one morning, Amelia seized on it eagerly. But it merely raised more questions:

  Now, dearest friend, regarding your bizarre experience on the roads in Scotland, I confess I had no idea when I read the newspapers that I had some part in your abduction. How appalling! But I don’t know what it means. I still have no idea why this Scottish Scourge fellow is plaguing Papa, and Papa says he doesn’t, either. Unfortunately he’s had another of his painful spells, which is why I’ve taken so long to answer your letter. And in his present condition, I fear to press him on the matter. But you can be sure that as soon as he is better, I will do so.

  The letter went on to beg information about what married life was like. Amelia didn’t know whether to smile or weep as she read it. Or how she could answer.

  But even as she pondered it, a servant rushed into the drawing room. “The master’s home, milady! He’s home!”

  Her heart pounding, Amelia raced into the hall, arriving at the same moment as Dolly, who threw herself into her husband’s arms with a cry of joy. Lucas was nowhere to be seen.

  “Papa?” Amelia asked. “Where is my husband?”

  Her father was too busy hugging his wife to even spare Amelia a glance. “He’ll be along this evening,” he said. “He had something to attend to first.”

  Her heart sank. “Something regarding Dolly?”

  Her father’s gaze shot to her. “No, dear, no. I see I have arrived before the letter I sent from France. But everything is fine.” He stared tenderly down at Dolly. “Major Winter has decided not to pursue the matter further. He’s going to make a full report on your brother’s death to his government. We’ll arrange to have the rest of the stolen money repaid, and that will be an end to it.”

  A rush of relief hit Amelia, so profound that her knees went weak. “So where is he?”

  “He went to Dartmoor Prison. Said he wanted to see it now that it’s empty.”

  “And you let him go alone?” Amelia cried. “Are you mad? That will set him to thinking about all his wrongs again, for heaven’s sake.” She ordered the footman to fetch her pelisse and hat.

  Her father watched her in clear alarm. “Now see here, he’ll be fine. There are some things a man should do alone.”

  “That may be,” she snapped as the footman helped her on with her pelisse. “But this is not one of them.”

  “Amelia—” her father began.

  “Let her be, George,” Dolly shocked her by saying. “It’s not more than a few hours by coach, and if it will ease her mind, she should go.” She laid her head on his chest. “It has been a long wait for both of us, you know.”

  Amelia’s father softened. He never could resist Dolly. “Whatever you wish, dear heart.” He glanced at his daughter. “We docked in Plymouth, but he was still trying to find someone willing to drive him the thirty miles to Princetown when I left. So if you leave now and take my carriage, you might arrive there shortly after he does. Take a footman with you.”

  “Of course.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”

  A short while later, she headed for Princetown. Although Dartmoor Prison was in Devon, she’d never been there. And two hours later, as the coach climbed higher and higher, she realized why. Because no one with any sense would come willingly to such a desolate spot.

  Still a wilderness part of England, the rocky outcroppings and impassable bogs and mires of the barren moor were legendary. She’d heard that it was often plagued by fog, but today it was clear, affording her a grim view of Dartmoor Prison’s distant granite walls. Ugly and remote, the prison was flanked on one end by Princetown, a town there only to serve the prison. As her coach drove through it, she saw few signs of life. Now that all the prisoners were gone, the town seemed to be languishing.

  As her carriage approached the prison proper, her heart sank to think of Lucas locked up in that inhospitable place, plagued continually by damp and cold, with nothing but a bleak vista as far as the eye could see. As she imagined him forced to obey the dictates of men as arrogant as himself, to endure the many petty humiliations inflicted upon prisoners of war, her heart sank further. Even if he’d resigned himself to giving up on his revenge before, seeing this place would surely renew it. How could it not?

  She had no trouble finding Lucas, for as she drove up, he was standing in front of the stone arch entrance. Apparently he’d walked up from the town, for there was no carriage nearby.

  If he heard the approach of her carriage, he made no sign, for he didn’t alter his military stance. His arms remained folded behind his back and his feet set slightly apart as he gazed at the locked wooden gates.

  He wore his uniform—not the one she’d seen at the ball but a different one, without the red sash. It hung on him, and with wifely concern she wondered how well he’d been eating. Or sleeping, since passage to France had probably required his going belowdecks.

  He looked so lost in thought that she was careful to warn him of her approach by speaking his name before she reached him.

  He hesitated a second, then swung around, his face mirroring his surprise. “Amelia! What are you doing here?”

  She managed a smile, though his drawn features made her want to weep. “I didn’t think this was the sort of place you s
hould come to alone.”

  To her relief, he returned her smile with a faint one of his own. “Afraid I’d run mad over the moor, were you?”

  “Afraid you’d forgotten you had a wife, more like,” she said lightly, though her heart was in her throat.

  He held out his arms, and she went into them eagerly, not even resisting when he hugged her so tightly she could scarcely breathe. “I missed you,” he murmured into her hair. “I missed you every moment I was away.”

  “I see how much you missed me,” she teased, choking back tears. “Instead of coming home to me, you came to this nasty old prison.”

  With a chuckle, he drew back but didn’t release her, just turned to face the prison gates with one arm looped about her waist. “I was saying good-bye,” he said.

  “To what?”

  “To everything. The war. My parents.” He dragged in a breath. “My revenge. You were right, you know. My pursuit of Frier wasn’t about justice—it was mostly about revenge. But not just against him.” His fingers dug into her. “Against the English, for this…travesty. For men held beyond the rightful time, men kept from returning to their families. Men murdered in cold blood.”

  “Men locked in tunnels beneath the ground, gasping for breath.”

  He nodded. “In my mind, Dartmoor marked the beginning of my troubles. I was convinced that if it hadn’t been for the prison, I would have been home and able to help my family. Frier wouldn’t have been able to embezzle the money, or if he had, I would have caught up to him before he could spend it, while he was still able to exonerate my father.”

  A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “But the truth is, I could still have been elsewhere after the war ended. The marines returned to Algiers in 1815. And other events might have kept me from home, especially since I was never eager to be around my parents’ constant bickering. Dartmoor didn’t mark the beginning of my troubles—it was just another tragedy of war.”

  A shuddering breath shook him. “That’s the hardest part to face. That there’s no one to blame, no one to punish.”

  “Not even Theodore Frier?” she asked hesitantly.

  He cast her a thin smile. “Not even him. He’s dead, you know.”

  She sagged against him, her relief so profound it made her knees weak.

  “He’s dead, and so is this place.” He regarded the rusty padlock on the gate with a pensive look. “I expected to find it the same as it was when I was here—redcoats marching and prisoners in ill-fitting yellow jackets. But of course it isn’t. Because life goes on.” He gestured to the weeds growing in cracks of the abandoned prison’s walls. “Time erodes everything eventually, doesn’t it?”

  “Not everything,” she murmured, then gathered her heart in her hands and offered it. “Not love.”

  He sucked in a breath. “No, not love.” Turning her toward him, he cupped her cheek. “That’s really why I came here today—to be sure I could put it behind me, to see if I could be the man you need.”

  “And what did you decide?” she asked in an aching whisper.

  “I have no choice. I love you, Amelia.” His eyes burned into hers, tender, tortured. “I can’t bear to live even one day more without you. So if keeping you means forgetting my past, then I will try.”

  Her heart filled with joy. “I’m not asking you to forget your past, my love. I’m just asking that you not let it ruin your present.” She slid her arms about his neck. “Or our future.”

  “I won’t,” he vowed, then kissed her with all the love she could ever want.

  The cough of her father’s coachman reminded her they weren’t alone, and she drew back with a blush. “We should probably retire to a more private place.”

  “Like a consulate in Morocco?” he asked.

  She gazed at him, startled.

  “Among the mail waiting for me when we returned from Scotland was a letter offering me the position of an American consul. I read it the morning your father and I left for France.”

  “You mean, the morning you left me without a good-bye?” she said archly.

  He cast her a rueful grin. “I was afraid to wake you, afraid that seeing you in all your naked glory might dim my resolve.” His grin faded. “I should’ve realized my resolve was dimmed the second I found you lurking outside my room, plotting to thwart me by fluttering your eyelashes and calling me ‘a big, strapping soldier.’”

  She ran her hands over his shoulders. “You are a big, strapping soldier.My big, strapping soldier.”

  “Soon to be your big, strapping consul.” A mischievous glint appeared in his eye. “Ifthe pesky wife I’ve acquired, the one who gets annoyed when I make decisions without asking her, agrees to it. That’s why I haven’t answered the letter yet.”

  Sobering, he searched her face. “I know you like adventures, darlin’, but after everything we’ve been through since we met, life abroad might have lost some of its appeal. The conditions may be primitive, and since your dowry will help repay what Frier stole, our income will be pretty modest. We won’t be able to afford—”

  “Lucas…” she began in a warning tone.

  “I’m just saying that the only crocodile crockery we’ll be buying is whatever you find in the cheap bazaars in Tangier.”

  Tangier! The very word conjured up delightful images of mosaics and houris and dangerous desert expeditions. “Will I get to ride a camel?”

  He broke into a smile. “If you want. Hell, darlin’, if you agree to live with me in Morocco, I’ll make sure you even get to eat a camel.”

  “Riding one will be quite sufficient, thank you. Very well, I consent to your accepting the position. But under one condition.”

  “And what is that?” he asked with a lift of one thick eyebrow.

  “That you don’t expect me to be an obedient wife.”

  With a laugh, he took her arm and led her toward the carriage. “I don’t think I could live with you if you were. The last time nearly killed me.”

  “Really?” Her mind raced ahead to their next sensual encounter. “In that case—”

  “Oh, no you don’t,” he growled as he lifted her into the carriage. “You were right about that, too, darlin’. I don’t want an obedient wife.” As he joined her on the seat inside, he took her in his arms. “What I want is a loving wife.”

  “Thank goodness. Because that, my dear husband, you already have.”

  Epilogue

  Dear Cousin,

  I received the loveliest gift from dear Amelia Winter last week—a teapot in the shape of a camel! She also sent news that she is once more expecting a child. She says that Major Winter is delighted…and does not try to restrict her movements too terribly much. But knowing our Amelia, no matter what he tries, she will prevail.

  Your friend,

  Charlotte

  The sun was setting west of Tangier when a noise in the hall of the American Legation Building made Lucas turn from the open French doors of his new study. Seconds later his wife and brown-eyed daughter Isabel burst into the room, followed closely by the young Moroccan nursemaid they’d hired to care for her once Amelia had learned she was expecting another child.

  “And where have you been, young lady?” Lucas made himself look stern, though his minx of a daughter was already giggling hard enough to shake her chestnut curls. “Don’t tell me you’ve been off getting into trouble.”

  “Not trouble, Daddy,” Isabel cried. “Adventure!”

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or groan. His little sweetie wasn’t quite three yet, and she could already lisp the word adventure . He glanced at his smirking wife, and lifted one eyebrow. “This is all your fault. Just imagine—if our daughter is eager for ‘adventure’ at this age, our son will probably leave the womb brandishing a pistol.”

  “You do realize we might not have a boy,” Amelia said, eyes twinkling as she rubbed her thickening belly. “Dolly said that she felt her quickening at five months for young Thomas, but some time later for baby Georgiana. I’m already
at five months and haven’t felt it. So the baby may be a girl.”

  “God have mercy on me if it is,” he teased. “I can hardly handle the two females I already have.” He smiled at his daughter. “Well, sweetie? What do you think will happen if Mama gives you a little sister?”

  “More adventure, Daddy!” she crowed.

  He chuckled. “Probably.” Tucking his thumbs in his trouser pockets, he gazed down at her. “So what sort of adventure did you and Mama have this afternoon, while Daddy was at an audience with the sultan? Did you herd fish in the bay? Write messages for pirates? Beat a brigand?”

  Isabel laughed, the sweet sound warming him to the soul. “Daddy silly,” she said, holding out her arms.

  He scooped her up with a mock growl. “Silly, am I? I’ll show you silly, you little wiggle-worm…” And he pretended to eat her ear as she giggled and squirmed.

  “We toured all the rooms and made a list of what will be needed,” his wife said. “This place is amazing. Does your government have any idea how valuable this property is?”

  “If they don’t, I’ll make sure I tell them.” He jiggled Isabel on his hip. “So you like it, do you?”

  “Like it!” Amelia beamed at him. “It’s magnificent! There are enough rooms for us to have as many children as we please, and we’re right in the heart of the city. There are courtyards and fountains and—”

  “And this.” He gestured out the French doors. “Come see.”

  With Isabel in his arms, he took Amelia out onto the fourth-floor terrace, then pointed. “When it’s clear, as it is now, you can see Gibraltar from here.”

  “Goodness gracious,” Amelia whispered, as they took in the vista before them—the bustling harbor, the shining blue Straits of Gibraltar, and even the old city itself.

  As the three of them stood gazing out across the straits, the peace of pure contentment stole over Lucas. He’d never expected to have this heaven of a life, to have an adoring wife, a lively daughter, and the expectation of other children. Dartmoor was a distant memory, and so were his nightmares. He hadn’t had one since he’d left France three years ago. He could even, when necessary, tolerate going belowdecks on a ship.