Her Scoundrel

by Geralyn Dawson

  He took her hands in his and his gaze swept her from head to toe. His lips twitched with a rueful smile. “When upon the rare—very rare—occasions in the past I have considered doing what I am about to do, I never pictured it like this. Nevertheless, especially after that kiss, I am confident of the question.”

  Foreboding rippled through her like a dark tide. “What question?”

  “The question. The question of the weekend. The prize sought by dozens, if I’m forced to immodesty.”

  Kat’s eyes widened and her stomach dropped to her knees. Surely he didn’t…he couldn’t He wouldn’t! “So, Katrina McBride. Will you marry me?”

  Oh, my God. He did.

  CHAPTER SIX

  JAKE COULDN’T RECALL HAVING this much fun since the time he rode the waterfall in Tahiti. He’d shocked her speechless, and he suspected that was difficult to accomplish with the likes of Miss Kat McBride. This wasn’t the way he’d planned to go about gaining her cooperation, but that reckless streak inside of him had taken control, and he honestly couldn’t regret it.

  Her mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Tempted to dive in for another kiss, Jake’s instinct held him back. He stepped away from her, propped a hip upon the Chippendale desk, folded his arms and waited.

  It took some time, but she finally managed to squeak. “What did you say?”

  “Hard of hearing, cookie? I asked you to many me.”

  She gave her head a shake. “Cookie? Did you just call me ‘cookie’?”

  “Spicy sweet. It’s a taste that grows upon a man.” He offered her his best wicked grin.

  “You’re crazy.” Mumbling, she brushed past him, headed for the door. “First advertising for a wife. Now proposing to a woman who is trying to steal from you. It’s ludicrous. Insane. Were you always this way, or did you catch some sort of malady during your travels?”

  Damn, she was going to be a pleasure. “Don’t go, Kat. Please.”

  It was the please that slowed her retreat of course. That one little word coming from the mouth of a man who knew how and when to use it could sure pack a punch.

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “I told you. I want you to be my wife.”

  “Why? Why me? I wasn’t one of those women who stood in line for hours for the dubious honor of applying for the job.”

  Her eyes glittered, color painted her cheeks. Her lips still glistened from his kiss. She was beautiful, sparkling with life and brimming with energy. Jake drank in the sight of her and replied, “You’re the one I want.”

  The certainty of it rolled through him like a shot of good whiskey, and the strength of his reaction left him a bit unsettled. She was a means to an end. A pleasant diversion. Why did the need to win her, to claim her for his own, hammer at him so?

  It must have been the kiss. Those lips of hers truly packed a wallop.

  “That’s it?” she asked, temper flashing in those emerald eyes. “I’m the one you want so you think you can have me?”

  Yeah, he did. He thought he could have had her on the ante-library floor if he’d put a bit more effort into it. Not that it would have been an effort. Taking that kiss to an ultimate end would have been the easiest thing in the world to do. “It’s not a one-sided proposition, Kat. I have quite a lot to offer.”

  “Oh, really,” she drawled, sarcasm dripping from her words.

  Jake wanted to nip the curl in her bottom lip. “That’s right. My wife will be mistress of Chatham Park and five other substantial estates in Great Britain and America, along with a few lesser properties scattered about the world.”

  “How lovely. A mistress without a mister. You are off to Tasmania soon, I believe.”

  “Tibet.”

  “Yes, well, wherever.”

  Snippy bit of baggage. “My wife will have wealth to indulge any whim.”

  “Moneygrubbing females take note.”

  Jake’s lips twisted with a smile. “My wife will have social standing on both sides of the Atlantic, and the doors open to her will include palaces and statehouses. Even the White House, I daresay.”

  “Church doors, however, would be a different matter altogether. The devil’s bride is seldom welcome in a house of God.”

  “Kat,” he chastised. “I’m crushed. Why would you think so poorly of me?”

  With dramatic flair, she clapped a hand against her chest. “Could it be the fact that you’re a thief?”

  He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “In my younger days, perhaps. I acted under the influence of a scurrilous group of scalawags, men like Luke Garrett.”

  She narrowed her eyes and glared at him at the mention of her brother-in-law’s name. Jake bit back a grin and continued, “I am a reformed thief.”

  She gave an unladylike snort.

  “I go to great lengths to ensure that the treasures I hunt today can be legally obtained. In this instance, I’ll use a marriage license.”

  “Now you’re equating the bride-by-advertisement with a treasure? Please.”

  “You would be a prize. Of that I have no doubt.” Jake risked taking a step toward her. “Marry me, Kat McBride. I’ll give you homes, I’ll give you wealth…I’ll give you independence.”

  That, he saw, scored a point.

  Momentarily.

  Kat drew herself up, lifted her chin. She was, Jake thought, magnificent. “You’d give me grief, is what you’d give me. No, thank you, Mr. Kimball. I must decline your proposal. I have experience with a man like you, sir. You’re no different from Rory Callahan, and I’ll not tangle with a blackguard again. Thank you for your hospitality, but I’ll be leaving Chatham Park. Immediately.”

  Jake waited until she’d reached out to open the door before saying, “Would you like to see the cross before you go?”

  Her hand on the doorknob, she froze.

  “The majority of the Texana collection isn’t housed here. My father built a special display for it at his castle in Scotland. When I realized you’d be visiting Chatham Park, I sent for it. It’s upstairs.”

  Kat’s arm dropped to her side. “What sort of game are you playing?”

  “No game. This is very much real life. So, can I tempt you with my treasure, darling?” Taking her hand before she could nod or demur, he led her into the corridor.

  Jake moved quickly, anticipating she might plant her feet and protest at any moment. He’d hate to have to pick her up and carry her the rest of the way, but that’s what he’d do if need be. Although on second thought, having her in his arms again didn’t sound like a bad idea at all.

  “This is the wing where my bedroom is, isn’t it?” she murmured. Now the feet dug into the Persian carpet. “Don’t tell me the cross is in my room.”

  “It’s not.” He gave her a tug, and all but flung her into the master suite. “It’s in mine.”

  Jake shut the door behind them and smiled at her. Kat shut her eyes and shook her head. “From the frying pan into the fire, Mr. Kimball?”

  “Call me Jake, darling. Don’t be suspicious. The cross is in here.” He led her from the sitting room into his bedroom.

  “Your bedroom,” she muttered, putting her back to the bed. “Of course. My mother warned me about scoundrels like you.”

  “You don’t listen to your mother much, hmm?” Jake walked across the room to the fireplace and the locked wooden box sitting on the mantel. “My father commissioned this case for the cross the day before he died. The ivory inlay is spectacular. It’s quite a treasure.”

  He set the box on the table before the fireplace and took a seat on the small couch, then gestured for Kat to sit beside him. He removed a key from his vest pocket, then opened the box.

  The Sacred Heart Cross nestled against rich ted velvet, its old gold and precious jewels gleaming in the room’s natural light. Seeing it, Kat McBride’s eyes went wide.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “It’s a work of art I didn’t expect…my heavens, look at the size of that ruby. It’s b
igger than Emma’s pendant.”

  Or yours, Jake thought. “I researched the cross extensively after it came into my possession.”

  “You mean, after you stole it from Rory.”

  Jake sighed. “Must we beat that dead horse again, my dear? I paid the man for it. I understand you accessed the funds once I informed you of the account’s existence.”

  “My father insisted.” Kat wrinkled her nose. “What did you learn about the cross?”

  “The ruby is Burmese, of course,” Jake replied, indulging her. “Rumor has it that it was taken from a sultan’s palace during the Crusades. It, along with the emeralds and sapphires, somehow found their way to the church during the Inquisition. Cardinal Franco of Spain commissioned the Sacred Heart Cross early in this century and sailed on the Copernicum to the New World. As we know, the Copernicum fell victim to pirates in the Caribbean, and the cross was deemed lost— until your Rory brought its existence to light.”

  “He wasn’t my Rory,” Kat snapped.

  Jake stifled a smile. “Someday I want to hear how a woman like you ended up with a man like him. I’ve wondered about that ever since we met on that beach in Galveston. Whenever I looked at the cross, I thought of you. You were so beautiful that day.”

  “I was seven months pregnant!”

  “You were ripe and luscious. A fertility statue come to life. Your hair glistened in the sunlight, old gold in color, just like the altar cross. I look at the ne—” catching himself, Jake corrected “—at the cross, and I see the emeralds and I think of your eyes.”

  “You’re not back to that again.”

  “Your lips are more enticing than the ruby.”

  “Are you part Irish, Mr. Kimball? You are so full of blarney. Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s sacrilegious to look at a cross and think about…that.”

  “Sex, you mean?” She blushed an attractive pink. Jake reached into the box and set it on the table. Then he took her hand in his. “I’ll ask again. Marry me, Kat. Marry me and I’ll give you the altar cross as a wedding gift.”

  Her eyes went wide, and for a moment he thought he’d won. Then abruptly she wrenched her hand from his and stood. “I’m no whore, Mr. Kimball.”

  For a long moment, the ugly word hung in the air like an offensive smell.

  Then, Jake shoved to his feet “Wait a minute. Wait just one minute.” He braced his hands on his hips and glared at her. “I never said that. I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “Oh, really?” she drawled, her tone dry as West Texas in July. “So, if I were to take you up on your…gracious invitation, you would not expect to share my bed?”

  A hot wave of desire shot through Jake at the thought He pictured sweeping her from her feet and carrying her to the next room, to his bed. “Actually, I’d want you to share mine. It’s huge. Shall I show you?”

  “No. I have no interest in your bed, Kimball, and I find I’ve lost interest in your cross, too.”

  He folded his arms. “Stubborn, aren’t you? I guess that goes along with being spicy. Kat, think about this. My gifting you with the cross is no different from a marriage settlement and that’s been the tradition here in England for ages.”

  “I’m an American.”

  “And brides don’t have dowries in America? Grooms don’t bring assets to a marriage? Accepting a gift from her husband doesn’t make a whore of a woman.”

  “Maybe not but this entire scheme of yours is distasteful, and I want no part of it.”

  “The ninety-odd other women who answered my advertisement wouldn’t agree with you.”

  “The emphasis being on odd,” she said with a disdainful sniff.

  Jake couldn’t help but grin at that. “Maybe my advertisement did lean toward artless, but at least it was honest which is more than anyone could claim about the marriage mart that is the London Season. My offer is as good as many a gentleman who dances his way into an engagement.”

  “At least you’re not pretending love.”

  “No, I am not.” Love wasn’t something he was looking for. Ever. Or not, at least, until the desire for adventure had burned from his bones—and he didn’t see that happening any time soon. Too many times in the course of his career he’d watched love fasten shackles around a wandering man’s feet. Explorers like him had no business playing with that sort of fire. To do so risked the loss of what mattered most—the trip beyond the horizon.

  “At risk of appearing unsympathetic, Katrina, I believe you married for love once before, and that didn’t turn out quite the way you’d hoped, did it?”

  She sucked in a breath. “You make Rory look like a saint.”

  “It’s a good deal, Kat. Think about it. I can offer you travel, adventure. You seem to me to be an adventurous woman.”

  “At one time, the idea of adventure made me salivate. I dreamed of traveling to places like those you visit. The Orient, the South Seas. The Arabian desert. Then I had a taste of adventure, and I learned it has a sour flavor.”

  “Callahan again?” Having that one thrown in his face could grow old. When she responded with only a shrug, Jake frowned. “You shouldn’t base a lifetime on one experience.”

  In a quiet, but not quite convincing, tone, she said, “I’m happy with a nice, quiet life in Fort Worth. Besides, I don’t need a husband to travel. I’m here in England, am I not?”

  Jake nodded, acknowledging her point. He tried another tact. “As my wife, you’d be self-supporting, no longer dependent upon your father.”

  She flinched slightly, proving he’d hit a nerve.

  “I’m not dependent on my father,” she clarified, a protest in her voice. “I work. Of late, I spend more time in my sister’s chocolate shop than she does because she’s too busy having babies. I earn a living wage, I’ll have you know.”

  “So is working in a chocolate shop your dream? Is that what you wish to do the rest of your life?”

  Her lack of response was as good as a no so he continued, “Is there someone else? Another man to whom you’ve given your heart?”

  “I will never give my heart to another man.”

  Jake’s eyes widened. She’d said it with such vehemence that he made special note of the sentiment. In his viewpoint that made his choice of her as his bride all the more appealing—no attachments. “Then tell me your objections, Kat, and give me a chance to overcome them. I will make every effort to do so. You’re the perfect bride for me.”

  “In heaven’s name, why?” she asked, her frustration evident. “You don’t even know me.”

  Jake sensed she was wavering, sensed she was close to agreeing. He took a step toward her and spoke with total sincerity. “I know what’s important. I know that you’re smart and spirited, Kat McBride. I know that you are of independent character. I know that I want you in my bed. And, most important, I know you’ll be a good mother for the children.”

  “The children. I almost forgot.” She closed her eyes for a moment then looked at him and laughed. It was the saddest laugh Jake had ever heard. “Someone else once told me I’d be a good mother. That someone else was wrong. Very wrong. Look to your other guests for a bride, Mr. Kimball. I am not interested in the position.”

  She left him then, without a backward glance, and Jake realized he’d been mistaken. She’d shown no hesitation whatsoever in her refusal. Displayed not one bit of doubt. “Well, hell.”

  He’d meant what he’d said when he told her she was perfect. He needed her. He had to have her! So, what should he do? Try a different approach? Should he appeal to her sister? Turn the girls loose on her? Seduce her?

  Seduce her. That particular solution had an undeniable appeal.

  But what if she meant what she said? He’d already pegged her as stubborn. What if he couldn’t change her mind? What if he’d do no more than waste his time by taking another run at her? What if she turned him down no matter what he did?

  If she turned him down after he seduced her, his ego might never recover.

  May
be he should take a closer look at the other bridal prospects here at Chatham Park.

  Jake pondered the notion for less than half a minute. No. He didn’t want any of the other prospective brides. He wanted Kat. One way or another, he’d have Kat McBride.

  Jake Kimball, treasure hunter, always got his prize.

  KAT PICKED up her skirts and dashed down the corridor, running away from herself as much as from him.

  She was shaken, confused. Frightened, almost. What had just happened? What had she almost done?

  Jake Kimball was pure temptation.

  Kat didn’t understand the feelings swirling inside her. She’d thought she’d put men and their temptations and their troublemaking behind her. She’d held no man, kissed no man, since Rory. And she hadn’t missed it. Not at all.

  Then Jake Kimball swept her into his arms, and what was dark and dead inside her burst into light and life.

  Kat picked up her pace. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want to feel again, to need again. She certainly didn’t want to love again.

  A little laugh escaped her as she descended the staircase. But he wasn’t offering love, was he?

  In that respect he was right. It was a good deal. The woman Jake Kimball married could enjoy the lifestyle, the independence, he promised without giving her heart. How perfect was that?

  All the woman needed to do was act as mother to five orphaned children.

  Kat slammed the door on that thought and hurried out of the house, headed in the direction of the fishing pond and her sister. Halfway there, she spied one of the potential brides rushing up the path that led to the folly, and surprise stopped her cold.

  Mud smeared the young woman from head to toe. The pins were missing from her hair, and wet, soggy strands of it hung splattered against her filthy face. She marched toward the house with murder in her eyes and a sharp, squealing screech emitting from her mouth at irregular intervals. At her side skipped one of Jake Kimball’s nieces, the apologies on her lips at odds with the light of mischief in her eyes.

  Kat knew that look. She’d seen it in her sisters’ eyes and in her own reflection enough times throughout the years to recognize it in a flash.