Never Trust a Scoundrel (4 page)

 

Later that afternoon, Grace rode a hackney to the fashionable town house of Baron Standish to make her morning call upon his wife, whom she'd known so many years ago as Beverly. They had gone to school together, before Grace's mother's financial situation had changed. Grace and Beverly still occasionally wrote, but when Beverly married and began having children, the letters became more infrequent.

But Grace still trusted Beverly's friendship, and if anyone could introduce Grace to the correct matrons and hostesses, it was she.

While Grace waited for the butler to take her card upstairs, she thought about what she might be involving Beverly in. She was keeping so many secrets, although she thought she could trust Mr. Throckmorten's love of a challenge to keep their…relationship quiet. But what about those other two men who knew that he had won the right to marry her? One of them had obviously wanted her, she thought worriedly. She could only pray that he would not want to risk a scandal by bringing his part in the affair to light.

At last the butler showed Grace upstairs to a lovely drawing room, where the sun shone through sheer curtains.

“Grace!” Beverly came toward her, looking more mature, but still with that lively sparkle in her eyes that meant mischief. Blond and pert and happy, she was obviously a very contented woman.

Grace gladly hugged her. “Beverly, it is so good to see you.”

“You should have written when you were arriving! I would have invited you to a dinner party last night.”

Grace found herself blushing, remembering whom she had spent last evening with. “I didn't know myself until quite recently. I'm staying with my brother.”

“Do sit down and tell me everything. I admit my last letter to you was surely sometime ago.”

Grace didn't want to say that it had been over
a year because she understood how busy the woman was. They chatted about Beverly's children and Grace's occasional suitors. When at last polite conversation was exhausted, and an expectant silence replaced it, Grace didn't quite know where to start.

Beverly gave her a kind smile. “Do tell me why you're really in London. You never wanted to leave your mother before.”

I couldn't trust her alone,
Grace thought with a sigh. But inwardly, she began to recite the story she'd conceived because she could not possibly tell Beverly the truth.

“I am twenty-three years old,” Grace said in a soft voice. “I have not been meeting men who suit my fancy in Hertingfordbury.”

Beverly smiled. “And here in London we have a veritable feast of men. You'll meet someone to please you.”

“My brother can introduce me to his friends, but he's a bachelor, of course, and—”

“Say no more, my dear! Allow me to be your sponsor in Society. You come from an old family name. I am certain you will be well received.”

Grace felt a surprising sting of tears, when she would never have considered herself an easy crier. But Beverly was proving herself a true friend—and Grace was lying to her. She consoled herself by remembering that she really did want to marry, so at least that part wasn't a lie.

“I must be honest, Beverly.”
Partly honest.
“My
mother always had something of a reputation as a woman who enjoyed games of chance.”
What an understatement.

Beverly leaned forward and touched Grace's arm. “I remember, dear, but I'm sure others won't. It is how you present yourself that matters. As long as you are well-bred, and possessed of a dowry as well as your beautiful face, you will have no problems.”

Grace gave her a relieved smile. Thank God for Papa, who'd thought to protect her dowry. At least she didn't have to lie to Beverly about that.

The butler stepped into the open doorway. “Lady Standish, Mr. Throckmorten is here to see Lord Standish.”

Grace took a deep, quivering breath and tried to appear disinterested as she studied the small statue of a bird resting on the nearby table. Oh heavens, how had he come to be here at the same time? Was he following her? she thought, affronted. But of course, she was having him followed right this moment. She bit her lip, quelling a bubble of hysterical giggling as she imagined looking out the window and seeing Will watching from across the street.

Beverly clapped her hands together. “What perfect timing!”

Grace winced.

“Do show Mr. Throckmorten up,” Beverly continued. “I think we can certainly rid him of any disappointment that my husband is not at home.” When the butler had gone, she turned to Grace,
and whispered, “Here is a most eligible man. His grandfather was the delightfully scandalous duke of Madingley, and his sensible cousin now has the title. Mr. Throckmorten himself has had to put up with much scandal, but it seems contagious in that family. And he has shown no preference to any young lady.”

Of course not,
Grace thought.
He preferred a mistress.

Beverly leaned toward her. “You might be just the woman to make him interested in Society again. The mamas would thank you!”

Grace held back a snort.

And then Mr. Throckmorten entered the room. If she thought the sheer effect of him would be less imposing in comfortable daylight, she was wrong. If anything, the shining sun made him seem so much more a creature of the night, dark in coloring, sedate in his choice of clothing, as if he had no need to preen with vibrant colors. He bowed to the two women, and they returned the formality with curtsies.

“Lady Standish, do forgive my interruption.”

Mr. Throckmorten spoke in that smooth, deep voice that made Grace shiver inside. Why did even the man's voice attract her?

“I wanted you to come up, Mr. Throckmorten,” Beverly said. “Miss Banbury, may I present Mr. Throckmorten.”

His eyes focused on her, betraying not even a hint of the amusement he must surely be feeling. He thought he'd gotten the best of her.

“Miss Banbury,” he said, with another bow.

Grace inclined her head, using all of her skills at hiding her emotions as she responded, “Good afternoon, Mr. Throckmorten.”

They all seated themselves, with him sitting directly across from her. But at least he concentrated that devilish smile on Beverly for the moment.

“I am sorry my husband is not at home to receive you, Mr. Throckmorten,” Beverly said. “Did you have an appointment that he forgot?”

“No, my lady, I merely had a question about a railway investment we're both a part of. It can certainly wait.”

Beverly glanced at Grace. “My husband always says that Mr. Throckmorten has an uncanny sense for which investments will bring the best rewards.”

Grace smiled politely. This confirmed her brother's assessment of him. “So you know the best risks to take, Mr. Throckmorten?”

“Always, Miss Banbury. And I only choose to participate in something at which I know I will win.”

“Is that a gambling reference?” she said, tilting her head. “Gambling is a terrible habit to have. I always feel sorry for someone caught within its spell.”

“Luckily, there are those of us who can safely navigate its treacherous shoals.”

“I can say that I, too, enjoy winning.”

Their hostess looked curiously between them.

“Mr. Throckmorten,” Beverly said, “Miss Banbury only recently arrived in London. I will be sponsoring her at all the best events of the Season.”

“She is very lucky to have your help,” he said.

Grace smiled at her old friend. “I agree.”

Beverly nodded as if she were embarrassed at the praise. “Mr. Throckmorten, I hope you will make her feel welcomed by making sure all the young men ask her to dance.”

“I'm certain I will be at the head of the line,” he said.

Grace barely resisted rolling her eyes. “If there is a young lady you are paying calls to, please don't let me interfere.”

“There is no one I am interested in, but thank you.”

“Mama!” The wail drifted down the staircase from the second floor.

Beverly sighed.

A servant hurried in. “Lady Standish, please don't concern yourself. The nurse assures me that—”

“Mama!” This time it was a shriek.

Beverly rose to her feet and gave Grace an apologetic look. “Please excuse me for a moment. It is almost dinnertime, and her nerves are often frayed when her little belly is empty.”

She strode from the room like a maternal whirlwind, leaving the door to the corridor wide open.

Grace gave Mr. Throckmorten a wary look, but he didn't notice because he was gazing down her
body with an intense stare. She inhaled, feeling a little fluttery, a little unsure of herself. He had obviously masked his intentions for Beverly's benefit, but now he was making it very obvious what he was thinking.

Winning the challenge.

D
aniel allowed the silence to continue for a few moments, until he thought Grace wanted to squirm. She looked so moral, so prudish, as if she couldn't believe what he might try.

It made him hard. By the devil, everything about her made him hard.

“You followed me here,” she said in a low, cool voice.

“Of course. You'll be seeing a lot of me. Who knows where I'll turn up?”

She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Who is the little boy you've enlisted to follow me?” he asked.

Her lovely cheeks blushed, though he imagined she willed them not to.

She lifted her chin. “My brother's groom.”

“He's not bad for a lad. I might try harder to lose him tomorrow.”

“Do you have something to hide?” She batted her lashes sweetly.

“No, but I enjoy upsetting your plans for me.”

“Oh, believe me, sir, I have not even begun my plans.”

“Well, that's good to hear. I would have been disappointed otherwise.”

Clenching her jaw, she glanced at the open door. He knew she would not want anyone to overhear their scandalous conversation. So he slowly rose, avoiding even a glance at her, although he was aware that she stiffened as if he were going to pounce. And it was a tempting thought. But instead he strolled casually about the drawing room, looking at knickknacks and paintings until he came to the sunny window behind the sofa Grace was seated upon. They were now only several feet apart, and she did not turn to look at him.

“You look lovely in that green gown, Grace,” he said in a low voice.

He thought she'd be offended at his use of her Christian name.

“Thank you, Daniel.”

He wasn't surprised that it would take more than that to ruffle her. She had spirit along with her tempting innocence.

“Christian names,” he murmured. “That speaks of a new intimacy.”

“Or rudeness.”

“Then allow me to be even more rude when I say that the color brings out your eyes—”

“Why, thank you,” she interrupted.

He smiled to himself at her disappointed tone. Did she think he was so unoriginal?

“You didn't let me finish. The color also manages to make the skin above your breasts even more creamy.”

He heard her inhale but not release her breath.

“You cannot see such a thing!” she whispered fiercely. “My neckline rises to my throat!”

He could not stop himself from glancing over his shoulder to watch her. “I can imagine. I want to lick you there, and trace a wet path down between your breasts.”

She finally remembered to breathe, but it was a faint little gasp that made his stomach tighten. Now simple breathing was enough to make passion rise in him?

She tilted her pretty little head, her light brown curls bouncing, and he wished he could see her expression. But he preferred being just behind her, making her wonder at what he would do next. He found it…exciting to think that he might be the only one who'd ever spoken to her this way, had ever tried to seduce her with words alone.

But of course he planned to do so much more. It already obsessed his thoughts, and he'd only just begun…

“What will you taste like?” he mused softly.

He could see her hand clutch the pillow beside her.

“Hmm, strawberries and cream, I imagine.” He dropped his voice to a guttural whisper. “Creamy flesh, strawberry pink nip—”

“I'm back!” Beverly called from the corridor.

He turned his head and looked back out the window, but not before he saw how Grace's hand trembled when she straightened it upon that dainty lace pillow. The first round surely went to him, he thought with satisfaction.

But he was uncomfortably aroused and hoped he could get away with standing behind the sofa for a while yet.

 

Grace woke up just after dawn. The first thing on her mind was the last thing she'd thought of before sleeping: Daniel Throckmorten's outrageous behavior at the Standish home. She shuddered and closed her eyes, biting back a moan. She could still hear his deep, rough voice saying words she hadn't imagined a man would say in broad daylight.

She would certainly not allow his scandalous words to affect her. After dressing, she went searching for Edward's groom/valet. After finding him in the stables, she brought him inside and made him some toast and eggs.

“So how did your assignment go yesterday, Will?”

He looked guilty, a bit of egg still in the corner of his mouth. “I didn't do too good a job. He spotted me quick, he did. Flipped me a coin, and said to keep up the good work.”

She sighed. “So what did the gentleman do?”

“Went ridin' first thing, and I found out from his groom he does that near every mornin'.”

Will told her about a bank Daniel had visited, and a lawyer's office, and even several businesses
and a factory. It seemed the man was far busier than her brother usually was.

“He even visited a fancy mansion near Mayfair in the afternoon,” Will said.

“I know, I was there,” Grace said ruefully.

“After eatin' at his club, he sent me out a pastry like I never had afore,” Will added blissfully.

If she weren't careful, Daniel would win the boy over to his side.

“Then he went to a blazin' palace on Park Lane,” Will said with obvious awe. “I asked a coachman, and it were Madingley House, miss. But he doesn't live there. Got his own town house, he does. I forgot to tell ye—when I was comin' home late yesterday, I saw a man watchin' the house.”

She frowned thoughtfully. “What did he look like?”

“Don't know—he left afore I got close. Since Mr. Throckmorten knows I'm watchin' him, could he have someone watchin' you?”

She shrugged. “I don't know, Will. I'll have to find out.”

“I already saddled the 'orse,” Will said. “Mr. Edward don't need it until afternoon. And you bein' up so early, thought ye might have a reason.”

Grace ruffled his hair. “You're a smart one, Will.”

“Ye want me to follow him again today?”

“Not right now,” she said, not wanting the boy to see what she'd planned for Daniel. “I'll let you know.”

 

Daniel never missed a morning ride. It was not an hour past dawn, and fog was hovering low over the Serpentine in the middle of Hyde Park. There were only a few riders at this time of the morning, and he felt alone and peaceful.

He thought of Grace, the woman he wanted in his bed. She could not be more different than his last mistress, a woman of the world, used to expecting the finer things in life in exchange for the pleasures of her body. Last month, she'd asked to be released from their arrangement. She had begun to want more intimacy than he could give her, even though he'd warned her from the beginning—as he did all his women—that their companionship would not turn into more.

But Grace would be a different mistress. He fully expected to make her as eager for his touch as he felt for hers. He had almost debated attending the musicale that Lady Standish had undoubtedly dragged Grace to last night. Now that would have caused a sensation, and it would have been far too obvious that he'd come only for her, since he never attended such affairs.

Instead, he'd gone to Madingley House and had his weekly fill of the loud voices and merriment of his uncle and aunt and cousins.

But not his mother, he thought, feeling the old twinge of unease that he had buried for so many years. She had not been to London since his father's death. He didn't think she cared about rumors that might still be lingering twenty years
later. She socialized with the neighbors back in Cambridgeshire. But they all knew not to have music playing. Here in London, he thought she would fear such entertainment.

He couldn't avoid music, of course. He'd even heard the occasional melody of one of his father's symphonies, but he didn't go out of his way for an evening of music.

But then he was guessing at his mother's motives, for they never talked about the past. After his father died, she had retreated into her music—ignoring him. He still remembered those bleak days, when one servant after another took turns trying to keep him distracted from the closed door of the music room. He had known his mother was in there. She would eventually emerge at the end of the day to talk to him. But he was so young that over time he began to resent the piano, to resent even the melody in her mind that called to her more than he could. She kept telling him that she had no choice except to write everything down. When it was finally done, and she declared herself through with music forever, he'd been secretly glad. He'd never brought up music again, but had always wondered when it would pull her away from him, her only child. Now that he was an adult, he wished it would come back to her.

Here in Hyde Park, with only his horse for company, Daniel told himself not to think. He rode contentedly in the saddle as the animal cantered.

Until he heard a scream.

He stiffened, pulling on the reins until the horse came to a stop. He looked between the trees, up and down Rotten Row, but he saw nothing.

Then came another scream, closer this time.

Suddenly, a horse burst from between two trees, heading straight at Daniel. His mount danced to the side, its ears back. The scream was coming from the other rider, a woman, who seemed to be hanging on for dear life, sliding perilously to one side. Her hat was gone, her brown hair flying from its pins. Daniel urged his horse into a gallop, so that by the time the woman's horse flew past, he was keeping the same pace with a burst of speed.

He reached out, leaning sideways as the rough dirt path seemed to fly beneath him. He meant to grab her reins, but at the last second, he saw that it was Grace Banbury. Her beautiful face was stark white with terror. Letting go of his own reins, he caught her beneath the arms and dragged her across his lap.

Grace cried out as she found herself pulled across the gap between the pounding hooves of both horses. The ground raced below, the air rushed through her hair and past her ears, and she'd thought herself perfectly safe—until Daniel Throckmorten had decided to risk life and limb saving her rather than just take hold of the reins.

His thighs were hard beneath her, one arm encircled her back, and the other reached to slow her horse, making him lean perilously low over
her. She gaped up at him, so shocked she almost forgot to pretend gratitude, as had been her plan. His face was hard with determination, brown eyes narrowed with concentration. It was thrilling and exciting—and difficult to remember to look terrified. When he finally pulled to a stop, she only had a moment to look around to see if anyone was watching. She saw three people on horseback, and thankfully, two were ladies, who were more likely to spread the tale.

Daniel lifted her even closer to him. Cradled in his arms felt as safe as being on the ground. He examined her face as if he expected to find blood.

“Are you all right?” he demanded.

“Oh, you saved me, Mr. Throckmorten!” she cried, a bit too loudly.

He frowned. “However did you get yourself in such a predicament? You live in the country. I would have thought you a better judge of a horse's temperament. This beast is your brother's, isn't it?”

“Yes, yes, it was foolish of me, I know—”

“Hallo, are you all right?” cried a man's voice.

Grace tried to sit up higher, but the pommel cut into her hip, and Daniel was still holding on so firmly. “Could you please help me down, Mr. Throckmorten? I do believe my limbs aren't shaking so badly now.”

His frown grew even more suspicious, but there was also a hint of amused curiosity in those dark eyes. But their witnesses were riding toward them, and she could not afford more time to appease him.

She tried to turn to greet the spectators, but he hugged her close and whispered, “You've given me such a ripe opportunity, Grace. I wonder what they'd say if I just continue to hold you so indecently, as if we are far too familiar with each other.”

“You wouldn't,” she hissed, waving her hand before her face as if she would faint. She put the back of her palm to her forehead, trying for weak and distraught.

“But your acting is so marvelous. It would be a shame not to allow you a last grand performance.”

She simply looked at him, their faces close together, their eyes daring each other.

“Only two weeks left,” Daniel murmured. “I might have to do something desperate to ensure that I win.”

“You're far from desperate,” she whispered back, then smiled. “It's two weeks minus a day. And you wouldn't do anything that might lead to a forced marriage.”

“And who could possibly force me into that?”

Before she could respond, others were upon them.

“Throckmorten, superb horsemanship,” said a man who reined in his gelding as he reached them.

Daniel finally released her from his gaze. “Thank you, Colby,” he said smoothly. “Always good to aid a lady in distress.”

“Oh, my dear,” cried a well-dressed woman
riding at the man's side. “Will you faint? Please don't fall off the horse.”

“I would never allow it,” Daniel said, holding her even more tightly.

The more Grace tried to appear weak, the more he pressed her against him, breasts to his chest, making it difficult to remember her purpose. “I can't quite get my breath,” she said weakly.

The woman slid from her horse. “Do let her down, Mr. Throckmorten. I can help the poor girl.”

Grace sensed Daniel's reluctant surrender, and she gave a deep sigh, using weariness to mask her relief.

“Let me dismount first, Miss Banbury,” he said, “and then I'll help you down.”

She gave a trembling nod, allowing him to do all the work of sliding out from under her. When he was on the ground and reaching up to her, she let herself slide weakly into his arms. It was difficult to forget that his hands were on her waist. She had a fleeting thought about what it would feel like if she weren't wearing a corset.