Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4)

by Cheryl Holt

  He thought she should participate in a dalliance. Why shouldn’t she? It didn’t appear that she ever had, and if he managed to drag her to her convent in Scotland, she’d never have a chance in the future. Why not sin a bit while she could?

  “Let me ask you a question,” he said. “And be honest.”

  “I’m always honest,” she replied, which caused him to bubble with laughter.

  “Yes, my little liar, you’re a paragon of veracity, aren’t you?”

  “I try to be.”

  “In my view, you don’t try very hard. You’re only candid when it suits your purposes.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So…tell me. Do you really want to be a nun?”

  There was a hesitation, then she said, “Of course I do.”

  “You’re positive?”

  “Yes. Why would you raise such a ridiculous topic?”

  “I’ve kissed you, remember?”

  There! The forbidden subject was out in the open.

  “Yes, I remember,” she said.

  “In my humble opinion, a woman who kisses a man as you kissed me isn’t confident in her choice. She might be wondering if she made the wrong decision.”

  “When I kissed you, it was a moment of temporary insanity.”

  “Was it?”

  “I was overcome by the moonlight and the sultry desert air. I behaved immodestly and I shouldn’t have.”

  “Is that your story?”

  “Yes, and I’m sticking to it.”

  “There’s just one problem.”

  “What’s that?”

  “If it was temporary insanity, if it was a fleeting moral lapse, why are you so desperate to get away from me?”

  “I’m not desperate.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.”

  “Let’s see if we can discover the truth, shall we?”

  “That is the truth.”

  “Well, Sister Faithful, we’ve already established that you’re a liar, and I don’t believe you.”

  * * * *

  As Mr. Hubbard slipped an arm around her waist, Faith knew she was in trouble.

  Since he’d kissed her the first time, she’d been dying for him to do it again. Especially after the day’s hideous events, she yearned to be closer to him in every way.

  She felt bonded to him as she’d never been to another person. He’d saved her life. Literally. He’d come for her despite her rash conduct, despite his having no duty to her. He’d been gallant and heroic and very, very brave, and she’d have to have a heart of stone to be unmoved.

  He captured her lips in a torrid embrace, and she did nothing to deflect or prevent it. She kissed him back with all the affection, gratitude, and fondness she could muster.

  He bit and nibbled, demanded and coaxed. All the while, his hands were roaming over her body. She followed his lead, determined not to be shy, not to miss a single minute of the amazing experience.

  Once she was in Scotland and locked behind the thick walls of the convent, she would never be kissed again. This was her only chance, and she was delighted to have him be the one.

  She didn’t know how long they continued, but it was long enough for the moon to glide across the sky. Gradually he slowed and drew away. He was smiling, his expression cocky and vain.

  “You just think you want to return to the convent,” he told her.

  “You’re right. I do think that.”

  “You won’t though. I’m certain of it.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It would be such a waste.”

  “You’re entitled to your opinion.”

  “Yes, and I’m always correct so I’m positive—in the end—I’ll be correct about this too.” To her stunned surprise, he said, “Would you call me Chase?”

  “No, I would not.”

  “I insist. I’ve rescued you from slavers and kissed you senseless so we can dispense with any formality.”

  She was a hairsbreadth from grabbing him and instigating her own kiss, but she didn’t dare. She was overwrought and exhausted, and he simply tempted her in ways she hadn’t envisioned possible before she met him.

  She eased away. “Goodnight, Mr. Hubbard.”

  “Chase, remember?”

  What could it hurt? “As you wish. Goodnight, Chase.”

  “Ha! I’m wearing you down.”

  “Perhaps a tad more than I like or should ever allow.”

  She kept on, heading for her bedchamber, and while a silly piece of her hoped he’d follow, she was relieved when he didn’t.

  She’d just proved to herself why she had to depart. She hadn’t realized how thrilling a flirtation could be. Nor had she understood how deadly a man like Chase could be to a woman’s equilibrium.

  He was like a comet blazing by, lighting up the corners of her world she’d never been able to view, so she wouldn’t be too hard on herself. She was an ordinary female and didn’t have the power to resist such a dashing rogue. No doubt few women could.

  She entered her room, and though it was late and quiet, she was too flustered to crawl into bed. She found a robe and a towel and proceeded to a bathing pool she liked to use. It was in the open air, but surrounded by shrubs to provide a bit of privacy.

  Her clothes were heavy and impractical, and she stripped them off. She’d scolded Rowena for being brave enough to shed her habit, but in reality Faith yearned for the courage to do the same.

  Everything was removed but her chemise and drawers. For a wild instant, she thought about removing them too. Yet she couldn’t take that final step, couldn’t imagine being completely nude.

  She walked into the water and dipped down, wetting herself, ducking under to dampen her hair. Then she scooted over to the rock bench and relaxed. She gazed up at the stars, wondering what would happen now, how she’d get home. Would she ever get home?

  If there was a tiny voice in her head, whispering to her that she couldn’t bear to go back, she was struggling valiantly to ignore it. If she didn’t return to the convent, it would be because she wanted to stay with Chase. But a woman couldn’t rely on him. Hadn’t he admitted it?

  She was so lost in her reverie that, at first, she didn’t notice someone was approaching. When she glanced over, Chase strolled around the shrubbery. They stared, and her initial instinct was to order him away, but she couldn’t force out the words.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “What are you planning?”

  “I’m not sure. Are you naked?”

  “Chase! What an impertinent question, and no, I’m not.”

  “Too bad,” he mumbled, and he climbed down the stairs to join her.

  She should have protested, but she was frozen in place and absolutely astonished by his arrival. She had no idea that adults acted so licentiously, and Chase Hubbard had to be the most decadent man in the world. She should have jumped up and run away, but she couldn’t.

  He seated himself next to her on the rock bench, and she yelped with surprise as he grabbed her and pulled her over him so she was on her knees and straddling his lap.

  “You should bathe in the nude,” he said. “It’s much more enjoyable.”

  “It’s not decent.”

  “You and your fussy British ways.” He drew her nearer so they were nose to nose. “I hate to tell you this, Sister Faithful, but I doubt you’ll ever become a nun.”

  He kissed her again, and she let him. Her mind and body were at war, with her mind screaming that she had to stop, but her body was awash in pleasure, blossoming under his stirring caresses.

  She didn’t have the moral will to desist, and with her totally abandoning her vows, she worried about how she’d ever return to being quiet, obedient Faithful Newton, novitiate with the Sisters of Mercy.

  She didn’t suppose it was possible.

  His tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair, their loins crushed together. He was rocking their hips in an odd rhythm th
at she seemed to recognize.

  “Have you ever had a beau, Faith?” he asked.

  “No. Just my cousin, Lambert, but he doesn’t count.”

  “He was the oaf your father wanted you to wed?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m so glad you didn’t.”

  “So am I.”

  “Did he ever touch you like this?”

  “Lambert? Gad, no.” She laughed. “If he’d tried any mischief with me, I’d have clocked him alongside the head.”

  “There’s been no one but me?”

  “No one but you, Chase.”

  He grinned a wicked grin. “Aren’t I lucky?”

  The encounter swiftly grew more intimate. He was massaging her breasts, pinching her nipples. It set off jolts of sensation that made her pulse race and her innards throb. She felt so young, free, and alive. No wonder women misbehaved! No wonder they got themselves into trouble!

  She’d frequently been lectured about how carnal conduct was sinful and wrong, but how could such a delightful experience be evil?

  Though she hardly noticed, he was removing her chemise, tugging it up and up, and while she half-heartedly attempted to keep it on, he won the battle. Suddenly her chest was bared, and though she fought to cross an arm over her bosom, he wouldn’t let her.

  He laid her back and dipped down to suck on her nipple as she’d seen him do to his slave girl. She’d been shocked then and was even more shocked now. Not because it was depraved and she shouldn’t permit him to continue, but because it was so marvelous. If she died that very second, she’d have gone to Heaven with a smile on her face.

  She was so overcome that she wasn’t aware he’d slipped a hand into her drawers. His crafty fingers slithered down to part her womanly hair, then he slid them into her sheath. He guided them in and out, in and out, as he increased the pressure of his mouth on her nipple.

  With a cunning flick of his thumb, he jabbed at an incredibly riveting spot she’d never noted before, and she seemed to shatter into a thousand pieces. She cried out, feeling blinded by ecstasy, soaring up and up until she reached a sort of peak and tumbled down.

  When she landed at the bottom, depleted and overwhelmed and stunned beyond measure, Chase was there to catch her.

  “My Lord,” she muttered, “what was that?”

  “That, my pious little nun, was sexual pleasure.”

  “Can it occur more than once?”

  “It can occur all the time if a fellow knows what he’s about in the bedchamber—and I definitely know.”

  “Am I…I…with child now?”

  “No, Faith. We’ve simply had some fun, and I’ve proved that you should probably rethink some of your choices. You’re not cut out to be a nun.”

  “You are so dangerous,” she scolded.

  “I’m not dangerous. I’m just a very normal, very red-blooded British male who likes to roll around on a mattress. Or in a bathing pool—as the case may be. In that regard, you and I have a lot in common.”

  She was still draped over his arm, and she sat up. Her chemise floated by, and she clutched it to her chest.

  “I didn’t want any of this to happen,” she claimed.

  “Didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “You shouldn’t prevaricate, Faith. You have the most extreme expressions, and I can read them so well. This is exactly what you wanted, and I’m thrilled that I was the man to give it to you.”

  “But…but…what will I do now? What will become of me?”

  He chuckled, looking like the Devil himself. “You and I should spend some time discussing your options.”

  “Will you listen to me? I didn’t want this to happen!”

  “And you, Faith, are a bald-faced liar.” He grabbed the chemise and tried to yank it away. “Let’s do it again. There’s something else I’d like to show you.”

  “You’re mad.”

  What was wrong with her? What was it about him that caused her to throw everything away? Every bit of sense. Every bit of discretion. Every vow and pledge.

  He’d driven her insane. It was the only answer.

  She leapt up and waded to the stairs. Her legs were rubbery, barely able to hold her weight, but she managed to stagger out of the pool.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  She glanced back, and he was relaxed on the stone bench and completely unaffected by what they’d just perpetrated. He was impervious, while she was distressed and astonished.

  “I’m going to say my prayers and climb into bed,” she said.

  “What will you pray for?”

  “Strength.”

  “You don’t need strength, Faith. You need me.”

  “I repeat Chase Hubbard: You’re mad. We’re both mad.”

  She whipped away and fled as if her life depended on it, which it very likely did.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “What should we do?”

  Lambert Newton was pacing, his mind cluttered with problems, his temper on a slow boil. So he didn’t really hear the question.

  He spun around and asked, “What?”

  “What should we do?” Alice repeated. “There must be something that will help.”

  He and Alice were in her boudoir, with Alice reclined on a divan as if she was modeling for an artist. She had a delicate air about her that made her seem weak and frail, and she always looked one second away from swooning. Every man who met her wanted to stand close in case he was the fellow to catch her when she fell.

  In her widow’s weeds, she cut a tragic figure, the black clothes a stark contrast to her white-blond hair and big blue eyes. She appeared ethereal, like a ghost wavering in the distance. Her young age—only nineteen—gave her an added aura of melancholy.

  He’d once been as foolishly smitten as every male who encountered her, but significant acquaintance had revealed she was dumb as an ox. After extended time in her company, he quickly grew weary.

  “What would help, Alice, would be a miracle.”

  “Yes, but that’s not likely, is it?”

  “No, I’ve typically found that miracles are few and far between.”

  “He left me no money? You’re sure?”

  “Pay attention, dear. I’ve explained this to you over and over. Harold bequeathed everything to me, so I could take care of you should he pass away. We convinced him it was for the best, remember?”

  “Yes, but I’d been hoping he hadn’t listened. He never usually did.”

  “Well, just this once, he heeded me. Damn the man!”

  Harold was her deceased husband. He’d been a widower for nearly three decades, having married in his thirties and his wife dying while birthing Faith.

  At the ripe old age of sixty, he’d been introduced to Alice at a party in London and was so overcome that he proposed the next day. He’d wed her the day after that. It had been an astonishing turn of events, and when he’d arrived home with a bride on his arm, Lambert had thought he might drop dead from shock.

  Harold had been widely regarded as wealthy and prosperous, his vast properties including the family estate, Heron Hall. Except that it was all a lie. He wasn’t wealthy or prosperous. Over the years, he’d suffered numerous fiscal catastrophes, and his assets were mortgaged to the hilt.

  When Lambert reflected on the financial ruin he faced, he rippled with fury.

  He came from low circumstances, with his parents having too many children and not enough income to divide among them. While still a boy, his mother had clarified how the world worked, how they had a distant cousin who desperately needed an heir, so he’d ingratiated himself to Harold.

  It had seemed perfectly logical—both to him and to Harold—that Lambert should wed Faith and inherit as her husband. Unfortunately they’d never been able to persuade Faith to agree.

  Then Alice had stumbled into the picture. To Lambert’s horror, she’d instantly gotten with child. The fact had enraged him so much that he’d actually fantasized about murdering her so her
baby couldn’t usurp Lambert’s spot.

  Luckily she’d given birth to twin girls, Nellie and Nancy, who were two, so she’d had no son to wreck Lambert’s chances.

  The gilt had rapidly worn off Harold’s marriage, as he’d deduced that Alice was a pretty, but empty shell, and he shouldn’t have succumbed to her charms. Lambert had hedged his bets too, had swiftly seduced Alice and carried on a torrid affair right under Harold’s nose. As a consequence, she believed Lambert was madly in love with her, but he wasn’t.

  He was too self-centered to ever fall in love.

  He enjoyed their carnal dalliances though, and he’d stupidly proposed to her before Harold was cold in the ground. She’d accepted and was planning to marry him after a suitable mourning period had been observed.

  But they were beggared. How could they wed? The bank had foreclosed on the warehouses and the factory. The only property remaining was Heron Hall and the surrounding farm, and Lambert was fighting not to lose it too.

  “Could we sell my jewels?” Alice asked.

  “I tried, Alice. They’re fake.”

  “Oh, yes. I recall now. How about some of the animals or equipment?”

  “All mortgaged.”

  “Our situation is sounding more dire by the second.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  He was pacing again, wondering how his clever plotting had come to naught. With all his groveling to Harold, he’d never guessed that Harold was penniless. He’d been a veritable magician at concealing what he hadn’t wanted Lambert to see.

  “When is Faith expected back from Italy?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Alice, I’m certain you received a reply from someone at the convent. What were you told? Please recollect for me.”

  Alice scowled and pondered. “She should have already arrived, but I can’t guess why we haven’t heard from her. Her ship must have been delayed.”

  On Harold’s death, they’d written to Scotland, having assumed Faith would attend the funeral. But when she’d disobeyed Harold and taken the veil, he’d cut all ties and they’d had scant correspondence with her. Lambert and Alice hadn’t realized she’d gone on the extended trip.

  “Once she’s back,” Lambert said, “we have to convince her to travel to Heron Hall immediately.”