Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4)

by Cheryl Holt

  “You’re feisty, aren’t you?” he crooned. “I believe I’ll sample your wares before I let my business associate have you.”

  “Bastard!” she spat, the first and only time she’d ever uttered the despicable word.

  “You haven’t begun to see what I can do to you. Now cease your protests! It simply makes the situation worse.”

  She pushed with her toes, trying to butt him with her head, but she missed. She would have tried again, but she froze when a man spoke from behind her. His voice was very calm, very clear, as if there wasn’t a wild brawl transpiring in front of him.

  “Going somewhere, gentlemen?”

  Faith whipped around, stunned to find Mr. Hubbard standing in the doorway of the courtyard. Mr. Robertson stepped inside too, so they were a veritable wall of umbrage through which the criminals could not pass.

  Faith had never observed a more deadly sight. They were armed to the teeth, swords in one hand, daggers in the other. Mr. Hubbard also had a pistol strapped to his waist. They looked fierce and furious and very, very lethal.

  The slaves holding the girls staggered to a halt and peered over to Faith’s attacker—as if seeking instructions.

  The man talked to Mr. Hubbard in Arabic, and Mr. Hubbard answered. Then he turned to Mr. Robertson and said, “He claims this is none of our affair.”

  “Does he?” Mr. Robertson was livid.

  Faith’s assailant commented again in Arabic, and Mr. Hubbard answered again, then he translated for Mr. Robertson.

  “He insists we’ve stumbled on a little family disagreement, and we should be on our way.”

  Mr. Robertson snidely chuckled. “The buffoon is an idiot.”

  Rowena tottered out of the cottage. She was crying, rubbing a cheek that was red and swollen.

  “Ralston,” she said, “they’re kidnapping the girls.”

  “I see that,” Mr. Robertson replied.

  “I think they mean to sell them!” She pointed to the older fat man who’d just emerged from the cottage too. “I tried to stop them, and he hit me!”

  “He struck you?” Mr. Robertson was aghast.

  “Yes. Look at my cheek!”

  At the news, Mr. Hubbard bristled with offense, and he spewed a tense flurry of Arabic that had both men flinching. Whatever his remark, the slaves dropped the girls and eased away. Faith and Rowena ran over and hugged them close.

  “Ralston,” he ordered, “take the girls out to the horses. Take Faith and Rowena too.”

  “No,” Mr. Robertson responded. “I want to stay. I want to kill them.”

  “Take them to the horses, Ralston. I command you.”

  “You can’t be alone with these devils.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Mr. Hubbard blithely stated. “Get the girls to safety. In fact, there’s a carriage parked on the street. Put them in it and start for home. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

  In broken English, the older man complained, “That carriage is mine. You can’t have it.”

  “I’m accepting it as reparation for how you’ve harmed my wife and terrified my children.” No one moved, and Mr. Hubbard barked, “Ralston!”

  Mr. Robertson gestured to Faith and Rowena, and they shepherded the girls to the gate. As Faith passed Mr. Hubbard, he didn’t glance at her, but asked, “Are you hurt? Did any of them lay a hand on you?”

  “I’m fine. A bit roughed up, but I’ll survive.”

  “Who dared touch you? The pig in the courtyard? Or the one by the cottage?”

  “The one in the courtyard.”

  He nodded as if it was the precise answer he’d expected. “Go with Ralston. Head out of town as rapidly as you can.”

  “Are you certain we should leave without you?”

  To her surprise, he grinned. “This will be a piece of cake. Now go!”

  She hesitated, wondering if she should convince him to depart with her, but she decided not to. She rushed out to the carriage they’d commandeered. Rowena was already lifting the girls inside.

  Mr. Robertson had tied his horse to the back, and he climbed into the box as Faith hastened toward him.

  “Get in, Sister Faith. And don’t dawdle please.”

  “How will Mr. Hubbard catch us?”

  “I’ve left his horse for him.”

  With that small assurance, she clambered in and shut the door. Mr. Robertson beckoned to the horses, and the carriage rolled away at a brisk clip.

  The girls were sobbing, Rowena comforting them, but Faith couldn’t help her. She was staring out the window, anxious for Mr. Hubbard to be loping after them. Yet no matter how often she looked, he never appeared.

  “Is he coming?” Rowena asked.

  “No,” Faith replied.

  “He will.”

  “Of course he will.”

  Mr. Hubbard, as he’d braced for battle, had been the most magnificent spectacle she’d ever witnessed. He’d been splendid, brave and dashing and seemingly not afraid of anything, but they’d abandoned him to four adversaries. Who could guess how many others might have been lurking in the area? What if brothers or cousins arrived to assist? How would Mr. Hubbard beat them all?

  Just as she was about to give up and inform Mr. Robertson that they had to turn around, she noticed a dot on the horizon. She watched it forever, and gradually it grew closer. It was a man on a white stallion, and as he neared she could tell it was Mr. Hubbard. He wasn’t galloping, so apparently there were no bandits chasing him.

  On realizing he was approaching, she was glad she was sitting down. If she’d been standing, she might have collapsed.

  “It’s Mr. Hubbard,” she told Rowena. “I see him.”

  “Is he…injured?”

  “He seems to be fine. He’s not even hurrying.”

  “Thank the Lord,” Rowena murmured.

  Faith called to Mr. Robertson, “It’s Mr. Hubbard.”

  The vehicle slowed, and shortly Mr. Hubbard trotted up beside them. He leaned over and peered in the window.

  “Hello in there,” he said. “How is everyone?”

  “We’re perfectly all right, Mr. Hubbard,” Faith answered for all of them. “How about you?”

  “I’ve never been better,” he claimed.

  She studied him but didn’t note any wounds, no cuts or bruises, no rips in his clothes.

  “I’m relieved to hear it, Mr. Hubbard. We were frightened for your condition.”

  “You shouldn’t ever fret over me, Faith. I have nine lives, and I’ve only used three or four of them so far.”

  He reached across the distance that separated them, and she reached out too. For the briefest second, their hands connected, and he squeezed her fingers. Then he said to Mr. Robertson, “Let’s get these ladies home.”

  “Will do, Chase.”

  “Fast as you can, Ralston. Fast as you can.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Don’t curse at me.”

  Chase glared at Faith across her bedchamber. “I intend to do more than curse before this conversation is over.”

  “There’s no need to shout either,” she said. “My hearing is excellent and you’re only ten feet away.”

  “You deserve to be shouted at. You’re lucky I don’t take a switch to you!”

  “A switch! Of all the rude, domineering, obnoxious—”

  He was too furious to listen to her complaints. He marched over, grabbed her and shook her, effectively cutting off how she would have finished her sentence.

  They were back at the villa, the girls in their old room and tucked in for the night. Sister Rowena had gone to her room too. At least he thought she was in her room. During the debacle, he’d received the distinct impression that there was mischief brewing between her and Ralston. But Rowena shouldn’t be flirting with Ralston, and Ralston shouldn’t be encouraging her.

  As far as Chase was aware, Rowena was returning to the convent, and Ralston oughtn’t give her a reason t
o consider any other path.

  “Be silent for once,” he told Faith.

  “Me? You’re the one who’s yelling.”

  “That’s because you deserve to be yelled at.”

  “I was minding my own business until you barged in and raised a ruckus.”

  “Yes, and I’m not done.”

  “Pipe down or you’ll wake the girls. They’re extremely upset. I’m surprised they were able to calm enough to fall asleep.”

  “Whose fault is that precisely? Tell me that, would you?”

  The question stopped her in her tracks. They both knew who was responsible, and he took no pleasure in pointing out the truth.

  She gazed up at him, her blue eyes poignant and forlorn. “It’s my fault, and I’m sorry for being such a gullible fool.”

  She wrenched away and went to the French windows to stare out at the dark sky. He came up behind her, and while he ordered himself to keep his distance, he couldn’t. He stepped in so his front was touching her back.

  “You swore you’d stay at the villa,” he said. “You promised.”

  “I know.”

  “You lied to me.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  She turned to him and absurdly claimed, “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “Well, that’s too damn bad, Faith, because I plan to hash it out to the bitter end.”

  “I’m exhausted.”

  “You think I’m not? You could have been killed today. You could have gotten me killed. Is that bothering your pious little conscience at all?”

  “Yes, I’m very bothered.”

  “You couldn’t prove it by me. You refused to heed me so you brought about this whole dilemma.”

  “Yes, and I’ve admitted it so why continue to harangue?”

  “I warned you it was dangerous to traipse off on your own. Did you imagine I was joking?”

  “I realized there could be trouble.”

  “Trouble! You haven’t a clue as to the calamities that can strike in this despicable land.”

  “I have some idea. Don’t forget I was on a plague ship watching while dead bodies were thrown overboard.”

  “Yes, and then you were quarantined, robbed, and left to your own devices. That’s the sort of criminal who roams this part of the world. It’s the sort who’d abandon two nuns and three young girls in a foreign country with no resources.”

  “I had to find some assistance,” she mulishly contended.

  “You couldn’t have trusted me?”

  She scoffed. “Trust you?”

  “Yes, trust me. Did I, or did I not, apprise you that Ralston and I would work on a solution.”

  “Yes, but any delay meant we had to remain here.”

  “Where you were safely sheltered and living under my protection!”

  He was yelling again, and he couldn’t understand why he was in such a dither.

  He coasted through life, generally happy, never distraught. He never cared overly much about any issue, so there was never a topic to enrage him. For some reason though, she had goaded him to insanity. Why had he let her?

  “I was under your…protection?” She uttered the word protection as if it was an epithet.

  “Yes. Was it so horrid? You had food to eat and servants to tend you. You had water to drink and soft beds to sleep in. I’ve been in Africa a lot longer than you, and I can tell you that none of those boons should be discounted.”

  “Mr. Hubbard, you are loafing in another man’s house, a man who could come back any second to take possession.”

  “What has that to do with anything? He hasn’t come back so he’s completely irrelevant to our current situation.”

  “You have availed yourself of all that is his.”

  “Yes, and I intend to keep availing myself until someone arrives and orders me to stop. You staggered in here with nothing, not so much as a change of clothes or a penny in your purse, and when you were suddenly safe and comfortable, I didn’t hear you complaining.”

  “You strut about half-naked. You consort with…pleasure slaves!”

  “So? I am not your husband or your brother or your father. What business is it of yours how I comport myself?”

  “Millicent and I saw you in a carnal dalliance!”

  “First of all, you shouldn’t have been looking, and second of all, there was no harm done. Why work yourself into a lather over it?”

  “We can’t stay! With how you carry on, as if there are no rules or moral codes, it’s impossible!”

  She was shouting now too, and he was delighted to have finally prodded her into a reaction.

  “You witnessed behavior you didn’t like—that didn’t hurt you, I might add—so you’d rather take your chances with strangers than with me? Is that your position? For if it is, I must inform you that it is the most patently ridiculous thing a woman has ever said to me—and women have said some outrageously ridiculous things.”

  She glared, her temper on a slow boil, so he couldn’t decide if she was about to slap him or scream at him. Ultimately she mumbled, “You don’t understand, and I’m weary of explaining myself.”

  She shoved him away and walked out onto the verandah to stare up at the stars. He dawdled in her bedchamber, desperate to march over and continue their quarrel, which vexed him enormously.

  There was no point to bickering, but though he’d never admit it in a thousand years, he was waiting for her to express a bit of gratitude for how he’d rescued her. He never stuck his neck out so the fact that he’d risked life and limb for her was shocking. Was it too much to expect a little appreciation for his efforts on her behalf?

  He should have spun and proceeded to his own bedchamber but—almost as if a magnet was dragging him forward—he stepped through the door and went over to her.

  “Go away,” she said as he sidled up.

  “We’re not finished talking.”

  “Yes, we are. You simply want to bellow and blame, and I’m too fatigued to listen.”

  He leaned nearer and frowned. “Are you crying?”

  “No,” she lied. “I’m…tired. I told you I am. Don’t pester me about it.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Because I’m sad, you oaf. Why would you suppose?”

  “Why are you sad?”

  “Because I have so few choices. Because men view me as weak. Because I have no idea what to do now. Because I was scared to death today and thought I’d imperiled the girls.”

  “You did imperil them!”

  “I know! You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

  She looked so miserable, and he couldn’t abide her anguish. Typically he wasn’t the sort of fellow to be moved by feminine tears. In his dubious three decades of living, he’d driven many females to elevated states of despair, and he never tarried to make amends or ease wounded feelings. At the first sign of upset, he was out the door.

  So it was a novel sensation to find himself eager to comfort her. He drew her into his arms and, for just a moment she resisted the embrace, but she seemed to realize she was too wretched to reject being consoled. Yet she wasn’t about to let the encounter descend into maudlin territory. Before too many minutes had passed, she pulled away.

  “Thank you for your assistance,” she said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did you…kill those brigands?”

  “No. I didn’t dare. Not in this strange land where we’re foreigners. There isn’t much legal authority, but I wouldn’t want any of it to fall on us.”

  “Might they…come after us? Might they try to kidnap the girls again?”

  “No. Don’t worry about them.”

  He hadn’t murdered the bastards, but he’d roughed them up and had received a much better conclusion than vengeance.

  He’d demanded money as damages, claiming the girls were his daughters, Faith his wife, and Rowena his sister. The stupid idiots had called him a liar, so they’d earned themselves a sound thrashing,
then they’d paid what he’d insisted they pay.

  With the older man being a slaver, his purse had been full of gold coins, and Chase had seized all of it. He now had a stash big enough to deliver him to England. He could take Ralston, Faith, Rowena, and the girls too, the question being: Should he?

  He probably had to. After their misadventure, he couldn’t send them off on their own. If they left again, Ralston would go with them, and Chase couldn’t imagine staying behind if Ralston departed. So…if Chase planned to purchase passage for them, he would have to purchase it for himself too.

  It was the sole solution, and they had to flee Africa as swiftly as possible. He’d told Faith the men wouldn’t come after the girls, but he couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t. And if they arrived with a hoard of criminals, Chase only had Ralston to guard his back.

  The problem was that he’d enjoyed his idyll too much and couldn’t bear to have it end. The notion of heading to London, with its gray skies, rainy weather, and interminable fiscal trouble, was too grueling to contemplate.

  “Are you sure we’re safe?” she asked.

  “I’m very sure,” he lied.

  She studied his eyes, searching for the truth, but the night was too dark for her to find it.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  “You already thanked me.”

  “Well, let me do it again. When you walked into that courtyard, I’ve never been happier in my life.”

  “See? Even a dissolute knave like me can behave appropriately once in awhile.” He expected he’d coax a smile out of her, but he didn’t. “Tell me why you left this morning. Tell me the real reason.”

  “I can’t stay here with you.”

  “Why can’t you?”

  “You mean besides the issues I’ve mentioned about your character?”

  “Yes, besides that.”

  “You know why. Don’t pretend.”

  Her gaze was stormy and tormented, and he didn’t have to speculate over why she was distressed.

  He wasn’t a dunce. He was vastly experienced with amour, and they shared a hot, searing attraction. He was cad enough to act on it, but no doubt she was scared silly over the tumult they stirred.