Once a Scoundrel

by Anna Harrington

  “I’ve been thinking,” she ventured quietly, daring to change topics and knowing she was dangerously close to overstepping. “About Mary Halstead and her son...and all the rumors about you two.”

  “Oh?” He stiffened, but at least he didn’t tell her to mind her own business.

  So she nodded and hurried on. “A mistress is certainly nothing new, but the gossips are stirred up because she’s residing at Elmhurst Park.” She added after a pause, “With you. Which makes the situation seem more scandalous than it really is.”

  “She’s only staying until the end of the month,” he assured her.

  “Where will she go then?”

  “To one of my other properties, one far enough away that the rumors will stop.”

  She shook her head. He’d forgotten exactly how cruel people in society could be to each other if he believed that was all it would take to end the rumors. “They won’t. The gossips will simply think you’ve had a spat and sent her away, that you’ll accept her back at Elmhurst as soon as you want to...see her again.”

  His lips twitched in amusement at her attempt to keep the conversation wholly proper, even though they were discussing rumors about mistresses. “So what do you suggest?”

  He took the mallet from her and lined up to take his swing.

  “That you find a wife.”

  He jerked his head up to stare at her just as the mallet hit his ball. It rolled forward, coming to rest against hers. Then he blinked, staring at her as if she’d just vowed to assassinate the queen.

  “I think that’s a fine idea,” he murmured, oddly breathless.

  She blew out an aggravated sigh. Leave it to Stephen to tease about this. “I’m serious. If you only send Mrs. Halstead away, no one will believe you’ve broken off with her. But if you also marry, then everyone will assume it’s truly ended because of your wife. You’ll be just another peer breaking off with his mistress upon marriage.” She looked away, unable to fathom the peculiar look he was giving her. “Besides, you said you wanted to be respectable. So it’s time you were married and produced an heir.”

  “I think that’s a very fine idea,” he drawled huskily over her shoulder as he came up close behind her. Despite herself—and the topic of Stephen marrying someone else—she shivered at the heat she heard in his voice. “Well, attempting to produce an heir, anyway. I’ve heard that practice makes perfect.”

  She wheeled around to gape at him. A flush heated her cheeks at the thought of Stephen in bed, wrapped in sheets and practicing— Oh bother!

  The scoundrel knew exactly the effect his words had on her, and a crooked grin pulled at his lips, as if daring her to flirt back. But she would never, and certainly not with him!

  “Then I suggest,” she bit out as she placed her foot on her ball to hold it still, then pulled back her mallet, “that you practice with Lady Rathbourne.”

  She swung with all her might and struck her ball, sending his flying off the course. It sailed toward the chestnut plantation and fell out of sight among the trees.

  With a smug smile at her stroke, she took a second swing at her own ball and sent it bouncing down the alley, to land within ten feet of the iron ring. “Good day.”

  She slung the mallet over her shoulder and strode away, humming happily to herself and relishing the heat of his irritated gaze on her back as she went.

  *****

  Damn damn damn!

  Stephen bit back a curse as he searched through the trees for his ball. Faith certainly wasn’t making this easy on him.

  But then, why should she? She was right before, when they were walking in the lane and she’d admitted to how much he’d hurt her when he’d left. He’d broken her trust, and although she was one of the most loyal people he knew, once her trust was broken it was extremely hard to get back.

  “There are more important things to win than pall mall,” he mumbled the reminder to himself as he pushed a bush aside to search the undergrowth. Like Faith’s heart. And when it came to that, victory would be his.

  He snagged his sleeve on a brambly bush and rolled his eyes. Even if it killed him.

  A speck of yellow beneath a fern leaf caught his attention, and he blew out a breath of relief at finding the ball. Now he could return to the game and spend the rest of the afternoon flirting with Faith until she came to accept his attentions or ran out of plantations on Hartsfield Park where she could send his ball. Good thing she hadn’t taken up archery.

  A rustle of fabric sounded behind him, the soft tread of slippered feet beneath the trees.

  He smiled. So the little hellcat had come after him. Although he knew she’d followed him only to gloat at his misfortune, life in the military had taught him to take his victories wherever he could get them. Especially since it meant that they were alone in the trees where no one could see them.

  He snatched up the ball and teased, “Did you bring the mallet to finish me off?” He turned around, fully prepared to be attacked by Faith’s wit—and froze. “Lady Rathbourne.”

  “Dunwich.” The viscountess smiled flirtatiously as she came toward him through the trees, her bonnet dangling by its strings at her side. “You’re a very difficult man to get alone.”

  Not difficult. Impossible, as he’d been completely avoiding her. “It’s a large party. Lots of guests.” Apparently with one even prowling through the trees after him. “I fell into the rough.” He held up his ball. “I want to finish the game, so if you’ll excuse me—”

  She stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “You’ve been back in England for three months, yet you haven’t been to London.”

  “I’ve been busy with my estate.” He frowned, wishing she would leave him alone.

  Instead, she tugged off her gloves and rested her bared hand on his arm. “I’m certain you have been. Which makes one wonder...”

  He stiffened with wariness. The damned woman made him feel like prey. “Wonder what?”

  A wicked smile curled slowly at her full, red lips. “How much you need to be distracted from all that work.”

  She stepped closer, trapping him between her body and the brambly bush. Given her reputation, the bush possessed less thorns.

  His jaw tightened, and he said icily, “Lady Rathbourne, please step aside.”

  Ignoring him, she reached up to unfasten the buttons at the front of her dress, giving him what would have been an unobstructed view of the top half of her breasts if he’d bothered looking. Which he didn’t, keeping his eyes firmly on her face. Although he’d never thought it possible, he had no interest in her bosom.

  “What other games might you like to play, hmm?” She pressed herself against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  He grabbed her arms to put her away from him and said in a low growl, “You are mistaken.”

  She gave a throaty laugh at that and slid her hand down his arm to his wrist. “One of the finest rakes in England returns after four years in India, where there were no sophisticated English ladies to satisfy you...” She lifted his hand and brought it to her breast. “Surely, my lord, you’re in the mood for all kinds of play.”

  “Not with you.” He tried to pull his hand away, but her hold only tightened, earning him another laugh as she pressed herself into his palm.

  “I assure you that I can be quite entertaining.” She trailed her lips across his throat as she murmured, “And very pleasing.”

  His jaw clenched so hard now that the muscles in his neck twitched. A few more seconds of this, and he’d break his vow of never manhandling a woman. “Lady Rathbourne, if you do not—”

  “Have you found it yet?” Faith’s laughing voice carried down to him as she stepped around one of the trees. “It was no less than what you deserved for—”

  She saw them and froze. Her face paled as her eyes darted to his hand, still pressed against the viscountess’s breast, her bodice half undone and all of her twined around him. Then she turned and ran.

  “Faith, wait!” With a curse
, he shoved the viscountess away and charged after her.

  He caught her at the edge of the lawn, just as she broke free of the cover of the trees. She slowed to a walk to keep from drawing attention to herself but didn’t stop as she headed straight toward the house, her face red with anger.

  “Please let me explain,” he said in a low voice, his heart tearing when he saw the smile she forced onto her face for the other guests.

  “No,” she spat out.

  “It isn’t what you think—

  “What I think is that I saw that woman in your arms, with her dress undone and your hand on her...Oh, it doesn’t matter! Just leave me alone!”

  The irony was biting. The woman he didn’t want threw herself at him, while the one he wanted couldn’t get away fast enough. Christ.

  He took her arm and gently stopped her, but she refused to look at him. “I am telling you the truth. Lady Rathbourne came after me into the trees—completely uninvited—and threw herself at me. I was sending her away when you found us.”

  She said nothing, her gaze fixed on the house.

  “I would never do anything with that woman, Faith,” he said softly, daring to take a step closer even though she stiffened.

  “Let go of me,” she demanded in a whisper.

  The anguish he saw in her broke his heart. He spoke in a low plea, “You have to believe me.”

  She trembled, shifting away from him with agitation. “I-I can’t—I can’t be this close to you right now.”

  Self-recrimination rose inside him, and he bit out tightly, “Because you still won’t forgive me for leaving you?”

  When she finally looked at him over her shoulder, tears glistened in her eyes.

  “Because you smell of her,” she whispered in a breathless accusation. “Her perfume is all over you.”

  She gently pulled her arm free. As she walked away, he saw her swipe at her eyes. The small movement sliced through him like a knife.

  Chapter Six

  “Here you go.”

  Faith placed the leftover slices of ham from her dinner into a bowl, then set it onto the floor of the stall where she was temporarily housing the wolfhound. Papa had agreed to let her keep him only until she could find him new home. She smiled victoriously at that. He’d said the same thing about the three ducks, five cats, two geese, and a tortoise she’d also brought home in the past year, and all of them still lived at the old dairy barn. He’d come around to accepting this one in time, too.

  The dog rushed forward.

  “Slow down,” she warned.

  The dog didn’t listen, and within seconds, the meat slices were gone. Faith sighed. If he wasn’t sick before, he might very well be after this dinner.

  “That was honey-glazed ham with pieces of pineapple that Mama sent for all the way from the South Pacific, I’ll have you know.” She scratched behind his ear, but the dog was more interested in sniffing at the plate she’d used to carry out the ham. He rose up on his hind legs, begging to lick it. She sighed in defeat. “Oh, all right. But don’t tell anyone I let you do this. Cook will never forgive me.”

  She set the plate down. As the dog happily licked it clean, his tail swinging so hard from side to side that all of him pivoted in a half-circle around his front legs, she sank onto the hay beside him and stroked her hand over his back.

  “We really must come up with a name for you. How about Sam or Charlie?” The dog ignored her. “George?” Thinking even less of that name, he wiped his mouth against her arm, leaving a streak of ham juice on her coat sleeve. “Maybe we should name you Hartsfield.”

  “I don’t think Strathmore would find that amusing,” came a deep voice from behind her.

  Faith narrowed her eyes but refused to glance at Stephen as he stood at the stall’s half-door. “Well, then, Stephen it is.” She arched a brow and pointed at the dog. “Sit, Stephen, sit!”

  The dog stared at her as if she’d gone mad.

  And the mongrel at the stall door had the gall to laugh.

  She glared over her shoulder at him. “He doesn’t listen any better than you do.”

  “That’s because we strays are all alike.” Risking her temper, he opened the door and stepped inside. “I knew I’d find you here. Couldn’t resist visiting that dog before you went to bed, could you?”

  She was caught. With a peeved sniff, she explained, “I came out here to check on the colt and thought I’d look in on him, too.”

  Stephen glanced at the empty plate and arched a disbelieving brow. “Just look in, hmm?”

  Blast him. With growing aggravation, she bit out, “I wanted to make certain he wasn’t upset at being in a strange place. I knew he would have trouble settling down for the night.”

  At that, the dog let out a wide yawn, circled twice, then dropped to the straw. He let out a loud snore.

  “Seems to be settling down just fine,” Stephen drawled.

  Faith rolled her eyes. Even the hound was against her. But at least this animal she could manage. “Shouldn’t you be inside,” she asked brusquely, “smoking cigars and drinking port with the rest of the men?”

  “And pass up the chance to be alone with you in the hay?”

  She froze, her hand pausing in mid-pet. His comment was nothing more than meaningless flirtation; her brain knew that, yet her foolish heart skipped just the same.

  Not rising to the bait, she narrowed her eyes and asked directly without any amusement, “Why are you here?”

  “I need your help.” He knelt beside her and set the small basket he was carrying next to her in the straw.

  “With what?” she asked suspiciously. She trusted him as far as she could throw him, and looking at him now, all muscle and broad shoulders, that certainly wouldn’t be far.

  His blue gaze rose to find hers. “I’m upset at being in a strange place and am having trouble settling down.”

  She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Stephen to use her words against her. Just to prick at him, she held out the plate and asked with a saccharine smile, “Would you like to lick it, too?”

  He said quietly, “I meant in England.”

  Faith caught her breath. She should have rolled her eyes again, shoved him away, laughed—but something about the sober way he said that gnawed at her. “You don’t like being home?” she asked softly, with more concern than he deserved.

  He forced a lopsided grin. “Home was four years ago.”

  Her heart tugged for him. Of course, if she pressed, he would have said he was merely teasing, which was always his way. But she knew better. “You’ll have no trouble fitting back into society, if that’s what worries you. If your dancing skills are any indication, you’ve not lost any of your social graces.”

  He nodded with mock gravity. “Thank God a man’s character is measured by quadrilles.”

  “Three-quarter time, actually,” she corrected, a smile of amusement teasing at her lips. “It was a waltz.”

  “Even better.”

  The easiness of their banter warmed through her. They were almost as they’d been before, able to tease and flirt without hesitation. Almost. Because an undercurrent of tension stood between them so palpable she could feel it. Would they ever be as comfortable around each other as they’d once been?

  She grimaced. He’d certainly seemed comfortable enough when he’d been kissing her.

  “You’ve managed to fall right back into the thick of things.” She hoped he couldn’t hear the suspicion in her voice and mistake it for jealousy. Because she wasn’t jealous. Not at all. “Viscountess Rathbourne is a beautiful woman.”

  She cringed inwardly at herself. Well...perhaps a little jealous.

  He reached out to pet the dog. “I don’t like drool.”

  “Don’t attack a defenseless animal,” she countered, peeved that he would do so.

  He arched a brow, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “I meant Lady Rathbourne.”

  A bubble of laughter spilled from her. Her hand flew to her lips in embarrassmen
t, but she couldn’t stop. Nor could she ignore the devilish expression on his face. “Perhaps not so defenseless after all.”

  “Claws that a lioness would envy,” he told her, a bit too knowingly for her comfort. “So it’s a good thing I have no interest in the viscountess. And that absolutely nothing happened between us in the trees, except that she made it known that she was available and I refused.”

  “It certainly didn’t look that way to me,” she whispered, her throat tightening.

  “Because you arrived at the exact wrong moment.” He avoided her eyes as he reached for the basket, and she was glad for it, not wanting him to see the embarrassment and doubt she undoubtedly wore on her face. “You know the man I used to be. Do you really think I’d be careless enough to let myself be caught with a woman in the trees?”

  No, he wouldn’t. That was a very valid point.

  She bit her bottom lip. She wanted to believe him, and yet, seeing him with the viscountess upset her more than she wanted to admit to herself. She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter to me how you spend your time.” Or with whom.

  He said nothing for a moment, and she suspected that he might call her out for that bald-faced lie.

  But he focused his attention on the basket instead. “I thought we should have a midnight picnic.” He pulled out two small plates covered with towels and set them aside, then handed her two teacups to hold. “I hope you still like hot chocolate.”

  He lifted up a ceramic chocolate pot, and her chest warmed at his thoughtfulness. “How could you have possibly remembered that?” she murmured, truly surprised. And impressed.

  “I remember everything about you, Faith,” he assured her as he lifted the towel from the first plate, and this time she warmed for a whole new reason. “Including that you love croissants.” Then the second. “And strawberries.”

  Her belly tightened with wariness. She didn’t let herself believe him. Because if he’d truly remembered such small details about her, then—