Once a Scoundrel

by Anna Harrington

  A longing flared hot inside her. “Oh,” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Yes.” His lips curled into a crooked grin. “Oh.”

  She held her breath, waiting for his mouth to seize hers in another gut-twisting kiss—

  He suddenly released her shoulders. Turning away, he walked on down the lane, whistling to himself as he went, with the horse sauntering along behind.

  Left standing in the middle of the lane, Faith blinked in utter bewilderment at the sting of not being kissed, even as confusion swirled inside her. Because she didn’t want to be kissed, certainly not in that scandalous way he’d suggested. In that wanton way that would make her feel beautiful and desired, an object of passion and love. That simply wonderful, thrillingly exciting way—

  Oh, the devil take him!

  She ran to catch up with him, then sniffed haughtily as she fell into step beside him, as if she wouldn’t deign even to give him the time of day except that they were walking in the same direction. As if her heart wasn’t slamming against her ribs with each pounding beat.

  “You shouldn’t tease me like that.” But her scolding emerged as a throaty murmur.

  “I’m not teasing, Faith. Far from it.” It wasn’t amusement that shone on his face. It was raw determination. “Every night during the past two years, I lay in bed and thought about you, wondering what I could do to make amends for the way I treated you. What it would feel like to kiss you again, to hold you...to hear you laugh or see one of your smiles. And every thought of you made me realize what a damned fool I was to leave you.”

  She stopped in mid-step, so suddenly that the dog smacked into her legs. The hound fell back onto his haunches and looked up at her, shaking his head with dazed bewilderment. And she stared at Stephen, the same dazed bewilderment clouding her face.

  *****

  Stephen watched her curiously, waiting for her reply to that wholly improper confession that had left her momentarily speechless and charmingly flustered.

  “I don’t believe you,” she finally said through her stunned surprise, which he was certain she’d meant to utter with all the frosty haughtiness of an octogenarian governess but which actually emerged as a husky purr. “You didn’t write, you didn’t say of word of this until now...”

  “Because you weren’t ready to hear it.” He still wasn’t certain she was, even now.

  She gaped at him silently for a long moment, as if she simply couldn’t fathom him. Then with an irritated scowl, she scurried away, the dog once more loping behind at her heels.

  Stephen stared after her. So, he’d rattled her. And quite thoroughly, too, judging from the way she kept her back ramrod straight as she hurried away and refused to look back at him.

  Good. Because she’d thoroughly rattled him.

  He hadn’t meant to confess his attraction for her, and he certainly hadn’t meant to kiss her like that or touch her like that—although he found it difficult to regret holding her in his arms. Sweet Lucifer, how much he’d missed her! But now, there was more to her than just the innocent sweetness he remembered, because he’d tasted her desire for him.

  If there had been any lingering doubts inside him that Faith wasn’t meant for him, her kisses had destroyed them all.

  His long strides easily caught up with her shorter ones, made even more stunted because the mongrel at her heels kept getting under her feet in his determination to remain as close to her as possible. When he darted in front of her, she nearly tripped over him.

  Stephen grabbed her arm to steady her, saying nothing when she yanked her arm away and kept right on stomping toward home, which now came into sight around a bend in the lane.

  He tugged at his gloves to keep his hands busy so he wouldn’t make one last attempt to pull her into his arms again before they walked into view from the house. “You should also know that I’ve made plans for Mary and Jeremy to resettle by next month. Their stay at Elmhurst is only temporary.”

  She gave a peeved sniff. “That is none of my concern.”

  Oh yes, it was. Very much. The obstinate woman just didn’t know it yet. “Then the rumors about her will die down and—”

  “And the others?”

  He blinked, puzzled. “Pardon?”

  “All the other rumors that have been circulating about you since your return, the ones which have nothing to do with Mary and her son,” she clipped out, nearly as quickly as her strides in her hurry to be away from him. “Will those die down, too?”

  His chest tightened. “Those aren’t true.”

  “So I’m to believe that you’ve given up drinking yourself into foxed fits of debauchery?” Accusation dripped from her voice, although he certainly deserved every bit of her displeasure. “That used to be your favorite pastime.”

  His lips twisted ruefully. That was a very apt description of the shiftless man she’d once known him to be. “Yes, I’ve given it up.”

  “Fraternizing with actresses and singers in smoky backrooms of Covent Garden hells?”

  “I haven’t been to London since my return.” He slid her a suspicious glance. How did she know what went on in those rooms?

  “And when you do travel there eventually?” she pressed. Now that they’d reached the small meadow behind the Hartsfield stables, her pace quickened, as if she couldn’t be away from him soon enough. And the uncertain furrow in her brow that he’d put there seemed to deepen with each step. “Am I to believe that you won’t spend all your time wagering at the clubs and gaming tables?”

  “Believe it,” he answered calmly. “Because I plan on spending all my time with you, Faith.”

  She halted and stared at him as if he’d just sprouted a second head. Her green eyes widened, and her pink lips formed a surprised O.

  He took a single step closer to her, coming as close as he’d dared with the stables only a few yards away. “I’ll ask you again,” he said quietly, his voice low. “Will you give me a second chance?”

  She swallowed, hard. So hard that the urge to place his lips right there against her throat and feel the soft movement for himself hit him so intensely that he shuddered.

  “And the gossip about the other women, Stephen?” she whispered. Her words were barely more than a breath, but their indictment was piercing. “All the wives and widows you’re...intimate with?”

  “There are no other women.” He stared into her eyes, trying to make her understand how much she meant to him. “I’m not the same man who left England, no matter what the gossips say.”

  Doubt glistened in her eyes. “Am I truly to believe that?”

  “Yes.” That single word was spoken with all the resolve he could muster, and every bit of his tarnished soul.

  A peculiar look darkened her face, one he couldn’t quite decipher, as she stared at him silently, as if she couldn’t find the words to put voice to the emotions swirling inside her. “Stephen...”

  But they were unable to say anything more because a groom hurried from the stable to take his horse, ending all further conversation. As he gave instructions for the gelding’s care, she backed away to put several feet between them, the rescued hound still at her heels.

  “I have to see to the dog,” she explained, her fingers twisting nervously in her bonnet’s ribbons. “Thank you for the walk.”

  She turned before he could stop her and practically ran toward the stables to flee from him.

  “Faith?” he called out.

  Reluctantly, she stopped, and her shoulders stiffened as she turned to face him.

  “I want you to be able to trust me.”

  Her face melted into an expression of deep sadness. “I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

  Then she hurried toward the stable door, calling to the dog to follow her. But the animal wouldn’t have strayed from her side if someone had waved a boiled chicken before its nose for all that he’d latched so possessively onto her. Stephen couldn’t blame him. He wanted nothing more himself than to be by her side, now and for th
e rest of his life. Although he suspected she would have come after him with a club herself if he suggested such a thing to her now.

  He had changed, damn it, but she wasn’t willing to believe it. And he’d never have a chance with her until he proved it.

  But for God’s sake, how did a man prove what he wasn’t?

  Muttering a curse beneath his breath, he yanked off his gloves and slapped them against his thigh as he started forward toward the stables after her. He couldn’t help himself. He was just as besotted as the dog.

  As he reached the stable door, Edward Westover stepped out from the stall where he’d been inspecting a horse. His dark gaze met Stephen’s. “Dunwich.”

  He stopped, his spine straightening. “Strathmore.”

  The duke turned to glance down the wide aisle at Faith as she gave rapid instructions to one of the stable boys about the dog’s care. The shaggy beast sat at her feet and scratched a hind foot behind his ear. When he switched legs, he forgot to put the first one down and fell forward onto his nose. Immediately, she knelt down and pulled the dog into her arms, fussing over him even as he joyfully slobbered wet licks across her face.

  Stephen shook his head. Christ. He was jealous of a damned dog.

  “Where did she find this one?” Strathmore asked. The two men were far enough away that she couldn’t overhear.

  “In the lane near the river. Rescued it from a man who was beating it.”

  Her father nodded with a heavy sigh. “She’s always bringing home one kind of stray or another. And speaking of strays...” He slid Stephen a sideways glance. “She’s happy to have you back in England. We all are.”

  Stephen didn’t believe that for a second, but his lips twisted wryly as he answered, “Thank you, sir.”

  “The duchess and I have always thought well of you, and we’ve been honored to be your godparents. You were named after my late brother, you know.” He smacked his riding crop against the sole of his boot to dislodge a piece of straw clinging to the heel. “We’ve cared about you as if you were one of our own.”

  “Yes, sir.” His gaze returned to Faith. “And I’m grateful for—”

  “Stay away from my daughter.”

  Stephen slowly turned his head and found Strathmore’s dark eyes boring into him. “I would never do anything to harm Faith,” he assured him. And meant every word.

  “Good to hear it.” Strathmore smiled and slapped him good-naturedly on the back. “Because it would be a shame if I had to shoot you.”

  He walked away toward Faith, who greeted her father with a kiss to his cheek.

  Stephen arched a brow. A damned shame, indeed.

  Chapter Five

  Squinting against the afternoon sun the following day, Faith glanced around to make certain that no one was watching. Then she kicked at her ball to send it an extra few yards toward the metal hoop at the end of the alley.

  “Cheating at lawn billiards?” Stephen’s deep voice drawled at her shoulder. “For shame.”

  She rolled her eyes. Didn’t the man have anything better to do than to continue to annoy her?

  “I never cheat at lawn billiards,” she corrected with a haughty sniff.

  So it was a good thing they were playing pall mall. And cutthroat, at that, in which rules were few and cheating was practically encouraged. Except for directly hitting opponents’ balls with their own mallets, players were free to do whatever necessary to drive their balls the length of the alley and through the metal hoop at the end in the fewest number of strokes.

  Mama had scheduled an afternoon of games for the guests, for once refusing to let the men go off hunting or fishing. Now everyone was gathered on the lawn, and while the men competed for prizes in rounds of bowls or archery, the women played at pall mall or battledore and shuttlecock. A tent had been erected near the rose garden, beneath which several tables had been placed where guests could take tea and refreshments at their leisure. Footmen scurried back and forth from the house with fresh trays of biscuits, sugared fruits, and sandwiches, pots of tea, and pitchers of lemonade. Several guests lounged on blankets and pillows spread out across the grass, while other couples surreptitiously slipped away into the private spaces of the walled gardens or one of the surrounding follies, where they couldn’t be seen from the house.

  Mama and the twins presided over all of it as hostesses, making certain that the guests were enjoying themselves, while Faith was certain Papa was hiding in his study. He’d never had patience for lawn games.

  Stephen clucked his tongue like a scolding governess and tapped her ball with his foot, sending it back to where it had originally come to rest.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Shouldn’t you be over with the men?”

  “I find the competition here more interesting.” His gaze swept over her, and drat him for sprouting goose flesh on her arms! “And far more beautiful.”

  “Yes, I suppose you would.” She wasn’t naïve enough to fall for his charms, not even after the way he’d kissed her yesterday in the lane. So if she’d been thinking nearly constantly about those kisses and the tingles he’d set loose inside her, it was only because he’d taken her by surprise. No other reason. She certainly hadn’t fallen for him again. “Compared to Lord Throckmorton plucking a bow, Lady Rathbourne cuts a far lovelier figure swinging a mallet.”

  He glanced down the long alley to where the viscountess was making an enthusiastic swing to whack her ball several yards through the air and nearly taking off the head of an unsuspecting footman standing nearby. He arched a brow. “Or attempting to fell Sherwood Forest.”

  Despite herself, Faith laughed, and his eyes softened on her face. Which sent up a whole new round of tingles. Drat him.

  But the viscountess must have sensed their gazes on her, for she smiled flirtatiously at Stephen and daintily carried her mallet down the lawn after her ball, swinging her hips in invitation.

  Faith scowled. Clearly, the viscountess had other games in mind for this evening.

  She lifted her chin. What did it matter to her what designs the scheming woman had on Stephen? She was welcome to the rascal as far as Faith was concerned.

  She swung her mallet, hard, and sent her own ball careening through the air toward the far end of the green. “Excuse me,” she said. “I’m playing through.”

  He stared after the little red ball as it bounced several yards away and mumbled, “Obviously.”

  She grit her teeth and walked away, to put as much distance as possible between them.

  But the infuriating man reached down to scoop up his own ball from the grass and carried it with him as he fell into step beside her.

  “Now who’s the one cheating?” she muttered. “Knowing you, I’m surprised you didn’t find a way for your ball to travel by horseback.”

  He grinned at her, which only earned him another interested glance from the viscountess. “Don’t worry, Faith. Victory is securely yours.” He lowered his voice and murmured cryptically, “Besides, there are more important things to win than pall mall.”

  “Well, it certainly seems that Lady Rathbourne is set on winning you,” she muttered. “She couldn’t take her eyes off you last night at dinner.” In fact, the woman had stared at him as if she’d rather have devoured him than her roasted pheasant.

  “I have no interest in her.”

  Yet even as he said so, the viscountess brushed her hand across her neckline and over the swells of her large breasts that were nearly spilling out of her corset, which was drawn up so tight that it was a wonder the woman hadn’t fainted for lack of breath.

  Grinding her teeth, Faith stood over her ball and did her best to ignore both of them as she set up her shot.

  “She isn’t my sort.”

  “Then who is these days?” She pulled back her mallet to swing—

  “You.”

  The mallet struck the grass a foot from the ball. A large divot flew high into the air.

  She gaped at him. Ignoring the shocked expression on her fa
ce, Stephen gazed down at the trench she’d carved in the lawn.

  “Seems your aim’s a bit off,” he mused.

  Her mouth slammed shut, and her hands clenched around the mallet handle. He dropped his ball onto the grass next to hers and took the mallet from her, ostensibly to hit his ball but more than likely to keep her from swinging it at his head.

  “But keep practicing,” he assured her as he took aim, then expertly sent the ball rolling down the green and straight toward the iron ring at the far end. “After all, practice makes perfect.”

  Wordlessly, she crossed her arms and glared at him, afraid if she spoke she’d certainly say something she regretted. But there was a world of accusation in the stare she leveled on him, and the rascal deserved every cutting bit of it.

  “I have no interest in Lady Rathbourne,” he assured her, all the teasing gone from him. “Not at this party.” He straightened, and his gaze locked onto hers. “Not ever.”

  She caught her breath at the subtle promise in his words. Had he truly changed, and changed so much that even women like Viscountess Rathbourne no longer tempted him? His blue eyes shined as he held the mallet out to her as if in a peace offering.

  “Then someone should tell Lady Rathbourne,” Faith mumbled as she took the mallet from him.

  He cast a dismissing glance in the viscountess’s direction. “I think she’ll get the message soon enough. Besides—” His gaze returned to her. “I’d rather spend time with you.”

  A happy warmth swelled inside her. Ignoring the nervous butterflies dancing in her belly, she turned away to swing at her ball. “So you keep saying.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  She watched her ball go bouncing down the alley, outpacing his by at least half a dozen yards. “No.”

  She followed after. Stephen fell into step beside her.

  She rolled her eyes. Apparently, he was determined to shadow her all afternoon. What his real reason was, though, she had no idea. But it couldn’t have been because he wanted to spend time with her. Not this trouble-maker.