Never Trust a Scoundrel Page 6

  He closed his eyes. “It’s so difficult, Grace. I wish I hadn’t come.”

  “What do you mean?” she whispered. “Watching me and—”

  “No, I can’t even say that’s the worst part. It’s…I know what the men are doing just down the hall.” His voice was soft and strained. “I don’t want to gamble. I keep asking myself why I need it, why it’s so important. It’s all I can think about.”

  “Oh, Edward,” she said, tears filling her eyes.

  “My mind is playing tricks. It keeps telling me that I can stop whenever I want to, that I’ll just win enough to—whatever. And sometimes that happens. And that’s worse, because then my mind has even more ammunition with which to persuade me.”

  “Then stay with me,” she said. “We’ll dance. You can introduce me to your friends.”

  He winced. “I should have done that when I came in, but all I could think about…” He took a deep breath. “You’re right. I can control myself, if just for an hour. Then I’ll leave.”

  As Daniel had surmised, his reputation remained unaffected by one dance with an eligible young lady. Perhaps she had yet to realize that he might have damaged hers. Though he talked with most of the men easily, when he was alone he remembered that the only reason he attended these affairs was to discover his next mistress.

  Or to begin his seduction of her.

  He spotted a tall, swarthy man moving through the crowd toward him, nodding or speaking to several people, but never stopping his slow advance on Daniel. Behind him, people whispered in his wake, sent looks of awe at one another as if they’d just seen the prince consort.

  Thank God for his cousin Christopher Cabot, the duke of Madingley. Chris wore a bright smile as he approached.

  “Madingley,” said Daniel dryly.

  “Throckmorten,” Chris said, not even bothering to repress a grin. “Was that you I saw—dancing?”

  “I have been known to do so.”

  “And that is the reason I am here. I heard this afternoon at the club that you’d accepted Irwin’s invitation. He was frankly worried about it, wondering what you intended.”

  “Always good to worry the host. So far I haven’t done anything to offend him—simply danced with a lady.”

  “And dragged her off to the dark terrace. Surely you are not looking for a mistress here.”

  Daniel grimaced. “Watching me? So what family member put you up to that?”

  “None. Took it upon myself. I am the head of the family, after all.” He smiled. “Shall I tell them that you’ve found a woman worth being publicly alone with?”

  “You know I’m not pursuing her for marriage.”

  Chris’s grin faded. “No? Then what was that for?”

  “You’ve never stolen a kiss?”

  “I have,” he said too gravely. “But usually with a woman sophisticated enough to realize the game.”

  “Believe me, she’s playing her own game as well.”

  “Is she trying to trap you?” Chris asked in a soft, wary voice.

  Daniel shook his head, wearing a wry smile. “Not that. I promise I’ll tell you more about it another time.”

  “But I’ve been dispatched as your rescuer. What am I supposed to tell them?”

  “You mean our aunt and uncle?”

  Chris nodded, his smile returning.

  “It’s too late to worry about their reputations, so they need to stop worrying about mine. You, too.”

  Chris shook his head. “Card game?”

  “Lead the way.”

  After Edward escorted Grace back inside, he introduced her to the friends he’d greeted when they arrived, and she spent several dances well occupied by admiring men. At last she was able to catch her breath by hiding behind a potted fern. A champagne glass suddenly appeared through the leaves.

  Grace laughed when Beverly poked her head through. “You read my mind,” she said, taking a refreshing sip.

  “I saw who you were dancing with.”

  “Then you saw me with several men.”

  Beverly waved a hand. “Only the first mattered, of course. And to think, I introduced you to Mr. Throckmorten! What a catch.”

  Grace rolled her eyes. “It was a dance, Beverly.”

  “And a daring rescue earlier in the day, I hear.”

  Without thinking, Grace said with delight, “So the story worked its way about town? Wonderful!”

  “Wonderful?” Beverly asked with suspicion. “You want people to know you’re such a dreadful horsewoman?”

  “Well…no, of course not.”

  “Then why would you care what people heard?”

  Grace said nothing, tapping her toe and looking past the fern, as if watching the dancers.

  “Grace Banbury, you do realize that our friendship has returned full force. And friends tell friends their deepest secrets.”

  Inside, Grace winced. There were so many things she wasn’t telling Beverly. “I—I really can’t speak of it here.” She was only buying time, of course, because now she was going to have to tell the woman something eventually.

  “Hmm, what a mystery,” Beverly said. “For that, I can wait. But you have worked miracles already, you know.”

  “I have?”

  “Throckmorten danced. Mamas were swooning in horror, young ladies were in awe—until he took himself off with his cousin.”

  “He’s gone?” Grace asked.

  Beverly laughed. “I cannot wait to hear this story. But no, he’s not gone. He’s playing cards with the gentlemen in the library.”

  “Oh.” A feeling of disappointment stole over her, and she silently chastised herself for forgetting what he was. He was a man who enjoyed the amusements of a wealthy gentleman. She could hardly expect him to stop gambling just because he was sharing a private challenge with her. She had to remember that not everyone was as overcome by the lure as her mother and brother. But how could he not realize how easy it was to slip into obsession? “Did you say his cousin was here? Which one?”

  “The duke himself. Madingley.”

  “Isn’t he the one whose mother is from Spain?”

  “Yes, she is.” Beverly leaned toward her and whispered, “A commoner, and once Catholic, or so I hear. The ton still has not accepted her.”

  “But they must love her son,” Grace said wryly.

  “A duke? Him, they adore, of course. Now if we can’t talk about the interesting Mr. Throckmorten and his family, you need to meet other people. And I know exactly the right ones.”

  Just like the first night when she’d arrived in London, Grace found a lamp lit in the entrance hall, as well as a newly stocked candelabrum. She was surprised at Edward’s thoughtfulness. She gratefully lit the candles, leaving the lamp for him. He’d left the ball not long after their discussion, and she hoped he’d been able to resist the card game.

  With a lot of tugging and squirming, Grace managed to remove her gown. She washed, donned her nightgown, braided her hair, and then crawled into bed with her journal. She wrote about her successful rescue that morning, and was halfway through the evening’s excitement, when she heard a muffled noise.

  She closed her journal and rested it on her knee, placing the quill in its inkpot. Could it be Edward already? But he was not usually quiet about his arrival.

  For a moment, she thought about the man Will had seen looking at the house.

  Oh, she was being foolish. This was a wealthy neighborhood—and she’d locked all the doors.

  But all the same, she went to the door and leaned her ear against it, listening. Again, she heard something.

  She just couldn’t keep asking herself questions. She pulled open the door, went out into the hall and stood still, listening. Edward’s door, across from hers, showed no light from beneath. She sighed, turning to go back into her room—and saw a faint light beneath the door of the master suite.

  Had Edward moved into the larger room, and she just hadn’t realized? She’d only been here one night. She tiptoed to t
he door and leaned her ear against it.

  It suddenly opened and she reeled forward, off-balance, right into the arms of Daniel Throckmorten.

  Chapter 6

  Daniel hadn’t expected Grace to fall so easily into his arms, so warm and soft and wearing only a nightgown. The scent of lavender surrounded him. She gasped and struggled in a panic.

  “Grace,” he murmured against the hair at her temple.

  She stilled and gaped up at him, still caught so wonderfully to his chest.

  “Daniel?” she cried.

  “Hush.” He pulled her inside and shut the door. “Are you allowing me to win so easily, fair Grace? This is like granting me a perfectly wrapped present.”

  With a flustered groan, she pushed against his chest, and he released her.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “You gave me back the key to the house!”

  “I was not so foolish as to give you the only key that I had.”

  She put her hands on her hips in anger, probably not realizing how delightfully her uncorseted breasts bounced. She likely wasn’t wearing drawers, and with just a flick of his wrist, it would be easy enough to see—

  “You promised that we could live here, at least for the month,” she said angrily.

  It actually took time to formulate a simple response, as his brain only seemed able to dwell on how little she was wearing. “And you can. I just thought I’d bring over a few things I might need—a change of clothing, for instance.”

  Her eyebrows dropped in a ferocious frown that looked quite fetching on her.

  “And why would you need that?” she asked icily.

  “Well, when my seduction succeeds—”

  “If.”

  “—then I need to be prepared. A gentleman cannot begin his day in wrinkled clothing. My valet would be appalled and worry that he would be blamed.”

  And Daniel hadn’t been able to forget about the man watching her house, but he wouldn’t say that aloud. He hadn’t thought about her alone with no servants for protection until just this evening, when he’d seen her brother gambling again. He’d remembered the bare state of the house that first night, no servants about to make it look lived in when no one was at home. It felt strange to be worried about a woman.

  He needed to distract her, so he reached around and caught her braid. “I like your hairstyle. I’ve never seen it on a fashionable lady before. You could make quite an entrance anywhere you went.”

  She tugged her hair, and he slowly let it go, a little bit at a time.

  “This is the best way to keep my hair from tangling. You obviously do not have a sister. But you’ve had many mistresses, of course.”

  “And they kept their hair long and free, the way I like it.”

  He moved closer until she backed up against the door. He murmured, “I like the way a woman’s hair tangles about our bodies when we make love.”

  She ducked beneath his arm and retreated to the center of the room, her face flushed. “It sounds painful for the woman.”

  “None have ever said so.”

  “They needed your goodwill—and your money.”

  He moved toward her again, and she darted around the far side of the bed.

  “How many mistresses have you had?” she said quickly, obviously trying to distract him.

  “A few.” He leaned against the bedpost, casually stroking the velvet bed curtains with long, smooth strokes.

  She watched his hands, her lips parted, her eyes wide. Then she swallowed and marshaled her determination.

  “And how long does a mistress linger in your good graces?”

  “Are you doing research?” he asked, lifting a brow.

  She blushed. “Just curious.”

  “I had my first mistress when I was nineteen.”

  “So young!” she said in surprise.

  “It lasted just six months—long enough to have me sent down from Cambridge in disgrace.”

  “But…do not other men have mistresses?”

  “She was living with me in my room.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s a shame I didn’t realize in time that we didn’t suit. But it really didn’t matter in the end. I was bored at Cambridge and had learned all I needed to. The rest of my education was through experience.” He emphasized the last word, letting her think what she would.

  Her gaze darted away but only briefly. Her curiosity was one of the things he enjoyed about her. It would prove so helpful to him.

  “The classics would not aid me in this new industrial world, so I took my small allowance and began to invest.”

  “Successfully, I hear,” she said dryly.

  “I like your interest in me. It proves we suit. I always succeed at whatever I try. I’m good with numbers.”

  “Successful with mistresses, too?”

  “Not always. But enough to keep all of us satisfied.”

  “And how long was the longest relationship?”

  He put a knee on the bed, and although she stiffened on the far side, she did not scurry away. He climbed up and on all fours began to crawl toward her. He could see the green of her eyes darken like the depths of the forest, and he imagined the moistness of a summer heat. To his surprise, he began to perspire. He had a wild urge to fling off all his clothing and see what she would do.

  Grace was frozen, caught in a subtle trap she had no answer to. Daniel was above her, crawling toward her like a cat, all smooth muscle beneath his clothing. She imagined him naked, doing the same thing, and she almost couldn’t remember how to breathe.

  She licked her lips and watched his gaze settle on her mouth, as if he would begin to nibble her there first.

  “Are you trying to distract me from my question?” she asked in a quivering voice.

  He stopped with his hands on the edge of the bed, his fingers splayed, his head swaying outward like a dark, shaggy lion. “I forgot it.”

  “What was the longest a mistress lasted?”

  “Three years.”

  “That is a long time,” she said, feeling intrigued in spite of the desire uncurling inside her. “And you broke it off at last?”

  “She did.”

  Hearing such intimate words was making her even more vulnerable to him. The more she heard, the more he became a person to her rather than just an opponent.

  When he reached for her, she took a step back, and he made no move to leave the bed. His fingers almost reached her breast, and she watched them with a gasp, until finally he pulled back.

  “She left you for a man who offered her more?” she asked.

  “She had no one else at the time,” he said.

  With a stab of disappointment, she watched him stretch out on his back, his arms out over his head. She stared spellbound at the rise of his chest and the width of his shoulders. With a pleasurable sigh, he folded his hands behind his head and crossed his ankles. She realized he wasn’t wearing shoes, that his big feet in black stockings looked strangely intimate.

  “Then why did your mistress leave you?” she asked.

  “She said I did not talk to her enough.”

  “Not talk enough? You have barely closed your mouth since I met you!”

  He laughed, long and low, a contagious sound that felt too good rumbling near her rib cage.

  “Believe me, we talked in bed.”

  Her ears practically burned at the way he spoke of intimacies so casually.

  “But she wanted more of my time and attention, and I could not give her…what I didn’t have to give.”

  Grace risked stepping closer to the bed, so that she could see his face in the shadows. “She made the mistake of falling in love with you.”

  He shrugged. “She didn’t say so, but I suspected that might be the case.”

  “So she was protecting herself by ending your affair.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And you hurt her.”

  “I didn’t want to.”

  So perhaps she had meant more t
o him than he’d realized. But he hadn’t loved her.

  She changed the subject. “It seems you are better at scandal, like the rest of your family, than you are at a serious relationship.”

  “My family is actually capable of serious relationships,” he said, smiling. “The scandal part just keeps…happening.”

  Like the jungle animal she’d imagined, he suddenly pounced, pulling her onto the bed, his upper body looming above to hold her down. Chest to chest, breath to breath, they stared at one another. He’d left her legs free, and she could have kicked him, but instead she watched his taunting smile fade, replaced by a look of hunger that called to her at a very deep, primitive level.

  “I’ve waited to kiss you all night,” he whispered, his face just above hers.

  His chest against hers was a pressure and a promise. She wanted to squirm, but not to get away—to pull him closer, to have him truly on top of her. He moved his chest against hers in a slow, circular motion, and without a corset, she felt each of his buttons like an intimate caress. One tugged at her nipple, and she shuddered. Resisting her own longings was even more difficult than resisting him. Why was this happening to her all over again, when she thought she’d learned her lesson?

  “I watched you dance with those other men—”

  “You did not. You were playing cards.”

  He leaned closer, and at the last moment, he pressed a soft kiss against her cheek. His lips, moist and warm, lingered, and she struggled not to turn her head to him.

  “I saw enough,” he said.

  She didn’t know whose heart was thundering so loudly, hers or his. For the first time she wondered if she would be truly strong enough to resist him. As it was, her hands were fisted in the coverlet. She struggled neither to touch him, nor to push back the lock of hair that fell over his eyes.

  “When I had you alone on the terrace,” he said, touching his nose to hers, “I thought I’d found my chance for a stolen kiss, but then your gallant brother interrupted.”

  “He could be home any minute. You should leave.”

  “Then I had better not waste this chance.”