Once a Scoundrel

by Anna Harrington

Chapter Two

  Stephen propped a hip against the stone balustrade on the garden terrace and stared at the glowing tip of his cigar as he waited for Faith.

  If anyone happened to see him here, nothing more would be presumed than that he’d stepped out to enjoy a cheroot in peace. They wouldn’t have known that his hands were trembling or that his gut had twisted into knots. And good Lord, how hard his heart pounded! From the nervousness inside him, he would have thought he was waiting for his first assignation with a woman, that he’d never met dozens of woman privately on dark terraces before.

  But then, he’d never met privately on a dark terrace with Faith. And tonight might very well change everything between them.

  “Stephen?”

  He turned at the sound of her voice, a faint smile at his lips. When he saw her, she stole his breath away.

  She stepped toward him from the shadows, the pale sage green of her dress showing silver in the soft moonlight and her strawberry blond hair upswept. Petite and graceful, she seemed not to glide across the stone so much as float, and her green eyes were bright even in the shadows. His chest clenched hard. Dear God, she looked like an angel. No—a ghost. The same apparition who’d been haunting him for years.

  When he’d walked into the ballroom this evening, he hadn’t been prepared for the mature woman she’d become. How graceful and gracious. How softly alluring. Oh, Faith had always been attractive in an uncommon sort of way, with those full lips of hers that should have been too big for her face and that pert little nose which was perpetually dotted with freckles. But now she’d become simply beautiful. To think of how close he’d come to never seeing her again, of never knowing the woman she’d become—

  But that was why he was here. To set everything to rights, to the way it all should have been before he left and ruined it.

  “Faith,” he murmured as she stopped in front of him. “You look beautiful.”

  Instead of the embarrassed expression he expected, she frowned at the compliment. “Empty flattery won’t work on me, Stephen.”

  “Empty flattery?” Is that what she thought? He’d never uttered a more honest statement in his life.

  “That’s how you always used to get your way,” she reminded him, carefully keeping her distance in case anyone should happen upon them. But he couldn’t help thinking ruefully that it was more than propriety that kept her away. “Especially with women.”

  “I’ve changed.” He paused pointedly. “Especially with women.”

  From the way she stiffened, she didn’t believe that, and clearly, he had a long way to go before he regained her trust. Realizing just how far bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

  He dropped the cigar to the stone and crushed it out with the heel of his boot. “You used to like it when I paid you compliments.”

  She dismissingly shrugged her slender shoulders. “I used to think you meant them.”

  “I did. I still do.” He fixed his gaze on hers in the shadows, hating that she no longer trusted him.. “With you.”

  She laughed, a light sound that floated gently on the night air and pierced into his chest like a sword. “And I’m to believe that I’m somehow different from all the other women you flatter?”

  “Yes.”

  Her green eyes studied him uncertainly in the shadows. He didn’t blame her for being wary, knowing how he’d treated women before he left for India—how he’d treated her in particular. When he’d taken nearly as much thrill in the scandal of what he was rumored to have done and with whom than in the acts themselves. When he didn’t care what women gained in their encounters as long as he found his own pleasures.

  But he never would have intentionally hurt her.

  “I’ve never once lied to you, Faith, in all the years we’ve known each other.” It was important that she realized that. “And I promise you that I won’t start now.”

  She shook her head with an impatient sigh, as if that heart-felt admission simply proved her correct on how he was willing say anything to get what he wanted. Her reaction galled him. “Why did you ask me out here, Stephen?”

  “I need to talk to you.” He hesitated. “About Daniel.”

  Even in the darkness, he saw her face pale, becoming ghostly white in the moonlight. “I told you,” she whispered. “No one blames you for his death.”

  If only that were true. He constantly felt Daniel’s death like a knife in his gut.

  “And it was wrong of his parents to have made you swear to keep him safe.”

  The knife twisted. “Faith, please listen—”

  A couple laughed loudly as they stepped onto the terrace, followed by two more. The French doors stood open wide, letting in the cool air and the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine and inviting more party guests to spill out onto the terrace.

  The last thing he needed for this conversation was an audience. He held out his hand. “Come down into the garden with me where we can talk in private.”

  Eyeing him apprehensively, as if he were the devil himself, she stepped back to put even more distance between them. Each step clawed at him. “I need to return inside. I’ll be missed and—”

  “Come down into the garden with me, Faith,” he repeated, this time much more deliberately, wishing he could make her understand through sheer will the importance of what he wanted to tell her.

  She froze, and a new wariness swept over her face. She parted her lips as if to say something, then shook her head and turned toward the house.

  He grabbed her arm from behind and stopped her. For a moment, he half-expected her to yank free and slap him, at the very least to storm away—instead she stilled, every inch of her tensing like a coiled spring.

  “Just down the steps to the edge of the lawn,” he explained in a low voice at her ear. “Close enough to the house to be proper but where we can talk without being overheard.” When she hesitated, he drew a deep breath. “You asked about those rumors, the ones which claim I have a mistress and a son. I want to tell you the truth.”

  She asked bluntly, “Have you placed that woman into one of your properties?”

  “Yes,” he admitted, not having a choice. That was easy enough to prove. All she had to do was check with anyone at Elmhurst Park to learn that Mary was living there.

  “Then I don’t need to know anything more.”

  When she started to walk away, he tightened his hold on her arm and held her in place. Damnation. They hadn’t even started into the discussion they needed to have, and already he was mangling this. Badly. He took a deep breath and tried again. “Her name is Mary Halstead, and I want to explain about her.”

  Refusing to look over her shoulder at him, her eyes gazing straight ahead, she said quietly, “The rumors say that she’s the daughter of an East India official in Calcutta.”

  “She is.” Was.

  “That you met her in India.”

  “Yes.” So did Daniel.

  “And that you’ve given her money and clothing, established a household for her—”

  “That’s no one’s business but mine,” he interrupted. Those rumors, too, couldn’t be denied.

  A knowing flicker of betrayal darkened her face. “That sounds to me exactly how a man would refer to his mistress.”

  “She isn’t my mistress!” he ground out, far too loudly, and drew the attention of the nearest couple, who sent them curious looks before moving further down the terrace.

  “Then what is she to you?” she pressed.

  He clenched his teeth at the distrust in her voice. “A good woman who doesn’t deserve to be disparaged.”

  She turned her head to look at him. Accusation blazed in her eyes. “What is she to you, Stephen?”

  Good Lord. Even Faith believed the gossip over his word. He’d come here to set everything to rights with her, but he didn’t realize until that moment how hard it was going to be. “She’s a friend in a difficult situation, nothing more.”

  She lowered her gaze and said quietly, “She
has a child.”

  “Yes. His name is Jeremy.” Anticipating her next question, he drawled, “He isn’t mine.”

  She hesitated, as if to say something about the boy—then shook her head instead. “It doesn’t matter.”

  More than she realized. “The boy’s father was a soldier in India,” he continued carefully, dancing as close to the truth as he dared until he could gauge her reaction. Knowing Faith as he did, it was best to ease into it. “He was killed, and Mary was left with nothing. I made certain she had safe passage back to England and someone with her while she had the baby. They’re living under my care at Elmhurst Park.” He felt compelled to add, “Temporarily.”

  “But why would you do that? Surely, her own family would have taken her in, or her husband’s family would—”

  “She has no one but me,” he bit out, once more chafed by the situation in which Mary had been thrust.

  And him right along with her.

  If not for Mary and Jeremy, he could have quietly returned to England. He could have started his new life with a clean slate and proven to everyone—and especially to Faith—that he’d truly changed. That he was no longer a scapegrace but a respectable man. Instead, every step he took was an uphill battle.

  This was his punishment, he supposed, for giving the order that killed Daniel.

  Her shoulders sagged with obvious disbelief. “Isn’t that the same story every compromised young lady makes these days? That her husband died in the army?”

  “Do you have so little trust in me?” he pressed, irritated that she refused to believe him.

  Her eyes flickered in the shadows. “You forget, Stephen. I knew you from before, when nothing you said or did could be trusted. When you certainly didn’t keep company with virtuous women. Perhaps you should have been more like Daniel and stayed away from scandal.”

  He clenched his jaw in quick anger. The indictment on her face and the way she measured him unfairly, damning him before he even had the chance to prove himself—

  “Well, too bad we can’t all be like Daniel,” he drawled bitterly.

  Her spine stiffened, and she pulled her arm away. “What do you mean?”

  Damnation. “Daniel fell in love with Mary,” he admitted with a heavy breath, regretting his outburst. “Jeremy is Daniel’s son.”

  *****

  Faith stared at him as confusion whipped through her. What Stephen had said...Impossible. She didn’t hear him correctly, couldn’t have heard—

  She repeated in a whisper, too surprised to speak any louder, “Daniel Llewellyn...is the father?”

  When Stephen cursed quietly at himself, she knew it was true.

  Disbelief sank through her. How could that be? True, Daniel had created quite a stir that last season, matching Stephen’s roguish behavior measure for measure. But that had only been because of Stephen’s bad influence...hadn’t it? Daniel came from a respected family. Conservative Tories, no less. He never would have been so careless...would he?

  “Let me explain.” Stephen gestured toward the steps leading into the dark garden below. “Please.”

  She nodded stiffly. Bewilderment churned inside her as he led her down from the terrace to a stone bench at the edge of the gravel footpath encircling the lawn. In the shadows and with the privacy of the terrace’s stone wall behind them, they remained close enough to the party not to raise any eyebrows yet far enough away that they couldn’t be overheard.

  She sat and looked up at him. “Daniel and that woman...How did it happen?”

  He drew in a deep breath. “We’d been in India almost two years,” he began haltingly, as if he didn’t know where to start. “A few officers from our regiment were requested to travel to Calcutta to meet with officials from the East India Company. I was selected, and Daniel came along as my aide-de-camp. One night, we were invited to a dance. They needed partners for all the Company wives and daughters.” He paused, and she half-expected him to start pacing. “And Mary was there.”

  “That’s when he met her?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know that something had sparked between them. He kept it secret from me for months.” Then he did begin to pace the short distance in front of the bench, his boots crunching on the gravel. “He planned to wed her and use her father’s influence to secure a position for himself within the Company.”

  “Did they marry?” Her mind raced as she tried to remember the few letters Stephen had sent, and there had been no mention of a wedding.

  “No, they didn’t,” he said quietly, stopping still. “Because a few weeks later he was killed.”

  Her hands clenched the edge of the bench in grief. That letter she remembered all too well.

  He drew a ragged breath and continued quietly, “A few months later, Mary arrived at the regiment, distraught and inconsolable.” He paused, his face grim. “She was with child.”

  Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, that poor woman,” she breathed softly through her fingers, her heart aching for her. “She must have been terrified.”

  He nodded. “She was. Her family had refused to help her and cut her off, and Daniel’s family accused her of attempting to extort money from them, of smearing their dead son’s name.”

  Knowing Daniel’s family as she did, Faith readily believed that. The Llewellyns would never have tolerated a scandal.

  “She had no money,” he continued, racking his fingers through his already unruly hair, “nowhere to go, and no one to help her.”

  “Except you,” she acknowledged softly. He’d been Mary’s only salvation, keeping her from the streets or the poorhouse and her baby from the orphanage. That certainly wasn’t the Stephen she’d known before. Oh, he would have felt pity for her situation, certainly, but he wouldn’t have gone out of his way to help her.

  He heaved out a hard breath. “Yes.”

  “That’s why you haven’t protested any of the rumors,” she whispered, understanding dawning in her. “Because you were protecting her and Daniel.”

  He gave a jerky nod. Even in the shadows, his expression was dark, his shoulders heavy with responsibility.

  She rose and stepped slowly toward him. “You did a wonderful thing.”

  “Did I?” The bitterness in his voice surprised her.

  “Yes,” she said with as much conviction as possible, laying a hand on his arm. “Because of you, she’s safe, and her child has a chance for a good life.”

  “Living off my charity, uncertain of the future, the center of vicious gossip and rumors?” He stepped back to pull himself free from her touch and shook his head. “They’re in this situation because of me.” He hesitated only a heartbeat before confessing, “Because I killed Daniel.”

  Her chest tightened at the anguish flitting across his face. “That’s not true.”

  “I gave the order to charge,” he countered, his eyes somber.

  She stared at him, for the first time clearly seeing how much guilt and remorse he carried inside him over Daniel’s death. He’d wrongly blamed himself, and now he felt obligated to piece together the future that Daniel’s death had shattered, even at the price of his own reputation. She said firmly, “You did not kill him, Stephen.”

  “I did. And I have spent the last two years coming to terms with that, struggling to understand why him.” A haunted expression marred his handsome face. “Why me.”

  “It was a battle, and men die in battle,” she insisted breathlessly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, as if trying to accept that truth. But grief and guilt gripped him hard, and her heart melted for him.

  For the first time since he’d left, she was able to let go of the anger she felt for him. In its place came forgiveness and a longing to comfort him.

  Whispering his name, she lifted onto her tip-toes and rested her palm against his cheek in an attempt to reassure him. Every ounce of her wanted desperately to heal the wounds they both carried inside them. To finally let go of the past and move on.
r />   “You have to forgive yourself,” she murmured as she lowered herself away. “You have to...”

  He pursued, cupping her face between his hands to keep her close. His mouth lowered to hers—

  “Don’t,” she protested softly, turning her face away. She’d only wanted to ease his troubles, not encourage him to kiss her. Fresh pain blossomed inside her for him, for the torment he felt at Daniel’s death...and for her own foolish heart, which pounded furiously for him despite knowing better.

  He lifted his head and stared down at her, his dark eyes glowing with emotion. “I need this, Faith, more than you know,” he admitted in a breathy whisper. “And so do you.”

  Slowly, he lowered his mouth again to kiss her.

  She broke out of his hold and stepped back. Immediately she missed his warmth and strength, regretted the loss of the promise of his kisses. And the way he looked at her, his eyes afire, as if only a thread of restraint kept him from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her away into the dark garden—

  He hadn’t changed at all.

  “You shouldn’t try to kiss me like that,” she whispered. Folding her arms across her chest to keep herself from reaching for him—or slapping him, she’d yet to decide which—she shook her head. “You had no right. And I don’t want you to.”

  He quirked a dubious brow at her denial.

  Frustration poured through her and burned in the unshed tears in her eyes. Oh, blast the devil!

  “Faith?” Her mother’s voice cut through the darkness as she approached through the shadows. She saw Stephen and stopped. “Dunwich,” she said tightly, clearly displeased to find him arguing with her daughter in the shadows.

  Stephen inclined his head. “Your Grace.”

  “I noticed that Faith had been gone from the party for some time, so I came looking for her.” Her eyes moved between the two of them, although thankfully the shadows were too dark for her to see the hot blush on Faith’s face. “Is everything all right?”

  “I’m fine,” Faith whispered. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard to tamp down the fresh frustration and anger. How was it possible that Stephen could still hurt her after all these years?