Never Trust a Scoundrel

by Gayle Callen

  “I’m not teasing. Someday I will prove it to you.”

  Her maid glanced out the window, then cleared her throat. “We’ve come to the town house, miss.”

  “Thank you for noticing, Ruby,” Grace said. “I might have sat here far too long listening to Mr. Throckmorten recount fanciful stories.”

  He grinned. “You’ll regret your disbelief, Miss Banbury. I promise to demonstrate my charitable activities quite soon.”

  The door was opened from the outside and the stairs lowered by his coachman. Grace pointedly looked at Daniel, waiting for him to get out first.

  “Tell me one more thing, Miss Banbury,” he said. “Today you must have been showing me off to your new Society friends. And the other night, you wanted me to dance before them all as well. Why?”

  “Why?” she echoed, trying to seem surprised.

  He didn’t believe it. “Are you trying to marry me off to some unsuspecting young lady? Your attempts will not stop my…courtship of you.”

  Wide-eyed, she made a little snort in her nose, an aborted laugh. “I would never do that to an unsuspecting young lady, Mr. Throckmorten.”

  He sat back on his bench and frowned, studying her so deliberately, hoping to discomfort her. She didn’t break, but after several moments, her maid sighed loudly.

  At last Daniel descended from the carriage and helped both of them down to the pavement. He took Grace’s gloved hand and bent over it.

  “Thank you for the pleasant day, Miss Banbury,” he said softly.

  She pulled away and gave him a perfunctory smile. “You’re welcome, Mr. Throckmorten. I hope the lesson was not lost on you.”

  “Only time will tell.”

  He watched her walk up the stairs and disappear inside the town house. Right now he was in the mood to follow her inside and use a man’s intimate persuasion to find out what she was up to. But damn, he’d hired those bothersome servants.

  When Ruby and Grace were safely inside the town house, Ruby turned to stare at Grace, hands on her hips.

  “And what was that about, miss?” the maid demanded in an exasperated voice. “Are ye playin’ a dangerous game with that man?”

  “I already told you, Ruby,” Grace answered softly. “It’s all part of the plan to redeem him.”

  “It seems all part of a plan to stay near him, if ye ask me.”

  Grace threw up her hands, even as a hidden part of her knew that Ruby was right. “How can I redeem him if we’re never together? Just think how the ton will talk now that he has gone with the ladies on a charitable mission.”

  “They’ll just think he’s after somethin’, like any man.”

  Before she could say more, Mrs. Woodley, plump and efficient, came down the hallway from the rear of the house.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Banbury,” the housekeeper said. “Will you be having dinner at home this evening?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Woodley, thank you, although I will be going out again to a musicale this evening.”

  “But not with that Mr. Throckmorten,” Ruby said to Mrs. Woodley. “He doesn’t go to ’em.”

  “What a shame, but not surprising,” said the woman, nodding with sympathy, then heading back toward the kitchen.

  Grace followed her down the corridor, knowing Ruby trailed behind. “What do you know, Mrs. Woodley?”

  The woman leaned against the worktable in the kitchen, where she was rolling out dough. “Surely you know about his parents, Miss Banbury. Besides the rumors of murder, they’re the sedate branch of the family—they don’t like music anymore. The rest of the Cabots always have something wild going on. Their house parties in the country are legendary.”

  If the woman wanted to gossip, Grace was glad to talk. “Mr. Throckmorten doesn’t seem the type to have such a family.”

  “Oh, not him, miss. Mr. Throckmorten is an only child, you see. But his mother’s sister married this professor, and there was a scandal about dead bodies and his research and—” She broke off, looking worried. “Am I saying too much, miss?”

  “Of course not,” Grace said quickly, propping her chin on her laced fingers. “I’m so new to London that I know nothing about the ton.”

  “Well, the professor and Lady Rosa, Mr. Throckmorten’s uncle and aunt, have a son and two daughters. The duke’s father had his own scandal, of course. On his Grand Tour, he married a Spanish girl, common and everything.”

  “That’s not so scandalous, compared to murder and research on dead bodies,” Grace said, smiling.

  “Well, no, but she’s the duchess, and that has never set well with some of the finer folk. She has a son, the current duke, and a daughter, too, so that Mr. Throckmorten has a lot of cousins. Someone is always hosting a party at Madingley House.”

  “Does Mr. Throckmorten go?” Ruby asked.

  Grace should have shushed her, but she wanted to hear the answer, too.

  “Sometimes,” Mrs. Woodley said, using her rolling pin in smooth strokes over the dough. “Or so I hear.”

  Slowly, Grace began, “Are they all…happy as a family?”

  She couldn’t help but think of Daniel as an eight-year-old, his father dead, with no siblings to share his grief.

  “They’re close, miss, and care for each other. But that Mr. Throckmorten has always done things on his own.”

  Grace nodded. She didn’t need anyone to tell her that. He was a man who did what he wanted, whether gambling against women, skirting the line between being a gentleman and a new man of industry—or targeting the next woman he planned to conquer. And now his focus was on her, and though she fought her feelings, she relished his attentions.

  She remained in the kitchen for a few more minutes, watching Mrs. Woodley work. Ruby gathered up several irons to begin pressing Grace’s gown for the evening. Instead of a bare, echoing tomb, the town house felt more like a home again since the servants had come. She couldn’t help but be relieved they were here, and not just for their invaluable help. They were also protection against Daniel’s thinking he could visit whenever he wanted, hoping to catch her alone. She told herself to be satisfied they were interfering with his plans, but she gritted her teeth in disgust, knowing that part of her was a bit disappointed.

  When the musicale was over, Grace felt relieved. It wasn’t that Lady Barlow’s daughters weren’t talented, but her mind was distracted by thoughts of Daniel. He had not gambled last night—surely tonight that was where he’d be.

  And she was bothered by it.

  He should be here, appreciating the music. She wondered, with two gifted musicians for parents, if he played an instrument himself? Or had he once, but given that up?

  She was so preoccupied, that as she waited for the hackney coach she’d hired to pull up, it took her a moment to hear someone calling her name.

  Finally, the word penetrated her fuzzy brain, and she looked around. Although several guests were climbing into their carriages, or talking as they waited, no one seemed to be looking at her. So who—

  “Grace!”

  She whirled around at the whisper, but there was only shrubbery behind her. Then someone caught her arm and pulled her through. Before she could even be frightened, she found herself face-to-face with Daniel.

  She gaped at him. “Lurking in the shrubbery seems beneath you!”

  “Shh! I paid off your hackney driver, and no one else was paying attention.”

  “But—”

  “You should be more careful,” he said, frowning, still holding her hand. He began to walk down the length of the house and into the courtyard behind, talking over his shoulder. “You were lingering too far away from the safety of the other guests.”

  “Well, that certainly worked in your favor.”

  There were streaks of light through the darkness from the lit windows of the house, and she could see the gleam of his white teeth as he grinned back at her.

  “It did,” he said.

  “So what do you intend to do with me?”

  They wer
e in the courtyard now, moving down gravel paths, skirting foliage and flowers.

  “I intend to escort you safely home,” he said, unlatching a gate in the rear wall.

  “What if my maid is back there waiting for me?”

  “You didn’t bring her.”

  “Have you been spying on me?” she demanded, not really angry. This was a contest, after all.

  “I only watched you waiting for your hackney. She would have been with you. Tonight I was lucky.”

  “You’d been hoping I wouldn’t bring a maid to the picnic this afternoon.”

  “Daylight in a carriage can reveal so much. But I’m good in the dark, too.”

  Her mouth went dry, and she stumbled.

  A carriage loomed above them in the shadows of the alley. Even the coachman was dressed all in black. Grace felt a thrill of excitement, knowing that she would be alone with Daniel in a close, private—dark—space.

  He helped her up inside, and she was relieved to see a lantern swinging gently over her head. He stepped up, the carriage rocked with his weight, but instead of sitting beside her, he sat across. She told herself to feel relieved.

  But he spread his legs so that her wide skirt would fall between.

  She wouldn’t have to counter his advances for long. But she had a good sense of direction, and the coachman turned the wrong way out of the alley.

  “Surely you’re taking me home,” she said into the tense silence.

  “Of course.”

  His voice was smooth and low. He was again the dangerous Daniel of the night. During the day, she often thought she was beginning to know him, but not at night.

  “But the traffic will be less congested on a different route,” he added.

  She didn’t believe him.

  But what did it matter? She had his word that he would not damage her reputation. She would be home soon enough. And until then, she would prove to him how easily she could resist him.

  He said nothing more. With the lantern above, his eyes were in shadow. He was obviously watching her, but she couldn’t tell where, and it made her feel shivery all over.

  Again, he slipped one boot beneath her skirts. Short of climbing onto the bench, she had nowhere else to go, so she let him toy with her. In the weak light, she could see the bump in her gown from his boot, and followed it as it moved to the center of her skirt. And then the bump came higher, toward her, as if he would lift her skirt high enough to peer beneath. She quickly held it down at her knees and glared at him.

  His smile was devilish and disarming, but he lifted his boot no higher. She felt a draft of air on her knees, the bare skin between her drawers and stockings. When the lump of his boot started to recede, she felt a wave of relief, which came to an abrupt halt when she realized that on the way back down, his boot brushed her calf. She waited, uncertain if it was a mistake, but then he casually slid it down the length of her leg.

  She squirmed, unable to help herself. It was as if her skin were coming alive, and if she didn’t move, she might burst right out of it.

  She kicked him, and he laughed softly.

  “You have me at your mercy, Daniel,” she said. “It seems unfair because I cannot retreat.”

  “Knock on the ceiling whenever you’d like. My coachman will stop to see what we want. He’ll save you.”

  Knowing that she had a way to protect herself suddenly made everything seem different. It was a new challenge, to see who would break first here in the darkness and privacy. What would she let him do before she’d admit defeat by summoning the coachman? Kiss her? Touch her?

  Her trembling returned.

  Or would she even be able to stop herself?

  Daniel must have seen the panic cross her face, but he said nothing, did nothing, only watched her, his look full of challenge—and eventual victory.

  She straightened as her courage returned. He would be waiting a long time.

  Then he sat forward, opened the lantern, and blew out the wick.

  The plunge into blackness made her gasp. She could hear and feel her own frantic breathing—and at last she realized that the blinds were open, and every minute or so they passed a gaslight, which shone dim illumination between them.

  But not on Daniel, who was a vague, lighter shadow in the darkness.

  He reached both hands out, arms spread wide, and closed the blinds. She could see nothing.

  She thought he would pounce on her then, but the silence remained unbroken. Instead of feeling relieved, her tension and excitement only increased. What was he doing?

  She heard the creak of his leather-covered bench, and she flinched.

  He was at the bottom of her skirt again, and though she was prepared to hold it down, she didn’t feel it lifting. His hands were skimming her legs on the outside of her garments, moving steadily upward as if he were looking for something. His fingers pushed down on the fabric to brush between her thighs, and without thinking, she moved her legs apart to escape his touch, which teased and burned.

  And then she heard his weight shift and realized too late that he’d come off his bench and dropped to his knees on the carriage floor.

  Between her spread legs.

  She tried to close them, and felt his thighs, his body, blocking her. He wasn’t pressing himself up against her, but just the thought of him looming over her, positioned to do anything he wanted, should have made her panic and fight him and knock on the ceiling.

  But she did none of those things. She had never imagined a challenge would make her risk as much as she’d risked once before.

  She would not let him defeat her.

  And a dark part of her wanted to feel the pleasure he could give her. Just a touch, a kiss, that’s all she wanted. She would stop there.

  She waited there in the darkness. He was so close, she could hear his breathing now, too, and to her delight, it was as fast and shallow as hers. Would he kiss her? Would she feel his lips tugging at hers, opening her to him, pushing inside—

  His hands suddenly clasped her waist. She jerked in his arms and he waited. Did he think she would push him away? Then he didn’t know her.

  She leaned back on the bench, looking up to where she thought his face was. She was growing so desperate for his kiss that she almost reached for him.

  But that would be a form of surrender, and she couldn’t do that.

  His hands slowly began to move up her sides. She stopped breathing. She felt his fingers trace the lower curves of her breasts, meet in the center, and move up over her bodice, so gentle, barely touching. When they brushed over her nipples, even through the corset she felt like she was seared by him. She drew in a breath on a gasp, her body tense, her head thrown back.

  And then she felt the warm brush of his hair against her cheek, and the wetness of his mouth on her bare shoulder. She groaned, fisting her hands in her skirts so that she wouldn’t touch him. He still wasn’t touching her with anything but his mouth and hands, and it took everything in her not to arch up, to meet his body with hers, to use her legs to pull him against her.

  His tongue licked a path along the bare skin above her neckline. At her cleavage, he dipped down inside, leaving her shuddering. His hands slid behind her back, molding her flesh, pushing her up as if bringing her breasts to a feast.

  To her surprise, she felt her dress loosen, a tugging on her corset from behind, and then with sudden impatience he pulled down on her corset at her waist, and her breasts slid free. Only a chemise covered them now, soft linen that brushed against her erotically.

  And then through her chemise, Daniel took her nipple into his mouth, wetting the fabric, sucking on her. She cried out and lost the battle to withhold herself from him. Her hands slid up his back, through his tousled hair to hold him against her, where his lips and tongue brought her such exquisite pleasure. With his tongue he circled and teased, and at last he used his teeth to pull the chemise away from her bare skin. His hands cupped and kneaded her, lifting her breasts to his mouth to continue his
sensual exploration.

  Chapter 10

  She tasted like the sweetest fruit, strawberries and honey and the warmth of summer. Daniel feasted on the moistness of her, reveled in the way her nipples hardened just for him. Her little cries of passion maddened him, and he finally pressed his hips into hers, though his garments and layers of her skirts separated them. He turned her until she was leaning back across the bench, letting him push harder. He rolled his erection against the depths of her, lingering, circling in a way he knew she would like. He groaned when he felt one of her legs circle him, clutching him. As he moved his attentions between her breasts, kissing and licking, he slid his hands higher beneath her skirts, reaching for the drawstring of her drawers.

  And then suddenly she was sitting up, knocking him sideways and almost off her. He heard her frantic knocking on the ceiling and felt the carriage slow to a halt.

  He muttered a curse and drew back onto his own bench, feeling as stiff and awkward as an old man. He could hear her fumbling with her clothing and the occasional muttered word.

  “Can I be of assistance?” he asked, glad that his voice only sounded a little husky. He was amazed he could even get the words out, so lost was he in what he wanted to do to her—with her.

  “I think you’ve assisted enough,” she responded tartly.

  But not angrily. She was a fair woman, and had been enjoying him just as much as he’d been enjoying her.

  “Oh—hook my dress, please,” she said primly, as the carriage slowed to a stop.

  He reached forward and found her back already presented to him. He laced the corset, and fastened the last two hooks.

  “So you are good for something in the dark,” she said.

  He laughed.

  In silence, they felt the carriage sway as the coachman descended. When he opened the door, faint light from the street washed in. To Daniel’s surprise, Grace looked almost normal. She was watching him expectantly, and he realized he was supposed to come up with a reason why they’d summoned the coachman.

  “Tyler, our lantern went out,” Daniel said. “Can you light it from yours?”