Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) (7 page)

“You’re so pretty,” he said, flummoxing her. “Why would you deliberately lock yourself away?”

He thought she was pretty! How thrilling! How absolutely inappropriate that he would comment!

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she was shocked to hear herself admit.

“How long have you been there?”

“Eight years.”

“What about now? Does it still seem like a good idea?”

“Of course.”

“Well then, I’m delighted for you.”

His grin widened, and he gazed at her as if he suspected she was lying, as if he suspected she wasn’t happy. And she was happy! Mostly.

It was just that, every once in awhile, she questioned whether she shouldn’t have listened a bit less to her nanny and a bit more to her father. When she’d informed him of her plan, he’d been livid, and the more he’d scolded the more recalcitrant she’d become.

They weren’t even Catholics. Her nanny had been, but not her father or herself. Yet with the right amount of money offered, the convent would take any available candidate.

Faith had had her own funds, and when her father had refused to pay the costs of joining, Faith had paid her own way. It was a fact that vexed her.

Sometimes, she speculated over what else she might have done with that money. Sometimes, she ruminated over how she might have used it instead, the husband she might have had, the children she might have raised. But she didn’t contemplate it often or intently. She just occasionally…
wondered
.

“What does your father think of your being a nun?”

“He was quite set against it.”

“Why?”

“He viewed it as being preposterous. We’re not even Catholic.”

“Yet you jumped at the chance.” He shook his head. “You’re sounding stranger by the moment.”

“If I’d stayed at home, I would have been married off to my cousin, Lambert.”

“A fate worse than death?”

“Nearly.”

“So you put yourself out of his reach.”

“I guess you could look at it like that.”

She turned away and strolled down the verandah, wishing he wouldn’t follow.

She never discussed her father or Lambert or how they’d pressured her. Lambert had ingratiated himself to her father, had wormed his way into the family business and made himself indispensible. He’d been the son her father had always wanted, but his conduct was so mercenary.

His branch of the family was penniless and scattered, and he’d had no prospects. She believed that he’d assessed his predicament, then honed in on her, figuring he could inherit everything if she was his wife.

Yet there was a sneaky facet to his personality that only she had ever seemed to note. Her father certainly never had. He treated Lambert as if he walked on water and had never understood why she hadn’t eagerly agreed to be his bride.

She didn’t like to reflect on her childhood or her father. She’d been a quiet, lonely girl, reared by servants, mostly her nanny, and with very little interaction with her sole parent.

Mr. Hubbard was dredging it all up, and with his pestering her, she couldn’t keep it stuffed down deep inside where it belonged.

She stopped by the stairs that led to the beach. If she’d been a braver sort of female, she’d have ventured down, would have kicked off her shoes and stockings and waded in the waves. But that was probably more adventure than she knew how to experience.

He came up behind her, standing too close again. His thigh brushed hers, and she could feel the heat emanating from his body, could smell his hair and skin. All of it had the most disturbing effect on her anatomy.

She yearned to rub herself against him, to run her hands over all that exposed flesh. She expected it would be very hot, very smooth, and the fact that she was pondering such a detail was blatant evidence that she’d tipped off her rocker.

She should have jabbed him with her elbow, should have forced him back, but she didn’t. Though it was mad, she liked him just where he was.

“Shall we go down and walk on the beach?” he asked as if reading her mind. “We could strip off some of our clothes and splash in the waves.”

“I don’t think so. It’s awfully dark down there.”

“We can bring a lantern.”

“I’d better not.”

“You don’t have to be afraid. I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t, but all the same, I’ll stay right here.”

“You don’t have to leave in the morning,” he said.

“Rowena told me. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Ralston. He pleaded your case. I was fully ready to kick you out.”

“You were not.”

“I was. I’m the worst wretch in the world.”

“You try very hard to make that statement true.”

“I don’t have to try
hard
,” he claimed. “I don’t have to try at all.”

“Would you really have tossed us out?”

“Probably.”

“But Mr. Robertson dissuaded you.”

“He’s my moral compass.”

“Which is good. What is he to you? Are you related?”

“No, he was simply on the same ship as I. He was clerk to a grain merchant and they were on their way home. Before the pirates attacked, we had chatted a few times, but that was all. Then we spent several days clinging to a log and fighting for our lives. It’s interesting how that type of dire situation can bond one fellow to another.”

“You’re bonded now?”

“Absolutely. We’re closer than two brothers could ever be. He imagines I’m some kind of hero for saving him.”

“Aren’t you?”

“Gad, no. I was as terrified as he was. I hid it better.”

“What became of the grain merchant? Was he pitched overboard too?”

“Yes, and unfortunately Ralston tells me he had gold coins sewn into the hem of his coat, so it was very heavy. He sank before I hit the water, so he likely drowned.”

“You don’t know?”

“We sent inquiries up and down the coast, in case he was found, but we’ve never heard a word.”

“Your story gets more horrid with each tidbit you share.”

She glanced up, finding him to be much nearer than she’d realized. He was scowling, as if confused by their proximity. He was studying her mouth, and she suffered from the strangest notion that he was considering kissing her. It was absurd, but she couldn’t move beyond the outrageous prospect.

She stepped away, and when he stepped too, she held out a hand to stop him, to warn him off, and her palm smacked into his bare chest. His skin was as hot and smooth as she’d predicted it would be.

“I beg your pardon,” she murmured as she pulled away.

“You don’t have to beg pardon from me,” he said. “It’s been an eternity since I’ve seen an Englishwoman. If you want to place your hand on my chest—or anywhere else for that matter—I won’t complain.”

“Mr. Hubbard, you apparently assume I have loose tendencies, but I have no idea why you would.”

“You’re a long way from home, Sister Faithful, and there’s no one to chaperone or tattle on you. You can act however you choose.”

She’d just had this same discussion with Rowena, and it was odd to her to suppose morals could be ignored simply because one was off on her own and away from what was familiar.

“I expect I’ll act as I always have,” she firmly responded.

“Well, you don’t have to. Not around me, and if you relax a bit, you might actually have some fun while you’re here.”

“I’m having plenty of
fun
,” she insisted.

“Are you?” His lazy gaze drifted down her torso. “It’s seems to me you’re cranky because you’re miserably uncomfortable in those heavy clothes.”

“I’m fine.”

“There are some women’s garments in a cupboard if you’d ever like to wear what’s more realistic for the climate. You should definitely get rid of your veil. No one will die of shock if you have your hair uncovered.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“And
I
will state categorically that I would love to see all that red hair curling over your shoulders whenever I look at you.”

“Mr. Hubbard! You appear to believe I’m someone other than who I am.”

“You’re not a nun. Not yet anyway.”

“How do you know that?”

“Your friend, Sister Rowena, mentioned it to Ralston.”

“Maybe Rowena should be more circumspect.”

He shrugged. “I don’t deem it a particularly astonishing admission, though I wonder why you’ve never taken your vows.”

“I haven’t been ready to take my vows.”

His eyes searched hers, probing for details she was quite sure she shouldn’t permit him to ascertain. She glanced away, and he chuckled.

“Since you’re not ready for your vows, perhaps you’re ready for something else. If you commit a few sins, it’s not as if anyone will ever realize it.”

“
I
would know.”

“Who cares about you? So long as you never confess, you could pretend it never happened.”

“Is that how you go through life, excusing your misdeeds and pretending you haven’t transgressed?”

“Yes, it’s how I always behave, and it’s been grand so far. I enjoy myself very much, which is more than I can say from what I’ve seen of you.”

He tugged on her wimple, not with enough force to remove it, but undeniably indicating that he’d like to and would with the slightest encouragement.

“Stop that!” she scolded, and she batted him away.

He leaned in and whispered, “Live a little, Sister Faithful. Let down your pretty hair.”

He was so near, his breath brushing her cheek, and his closeness was so thrilling that she was surprised her knees didn’t buckle. Still though, she had sufficient control of her wits to draw away and frown.

“Are you asking if I’d be amenable to a…a…flirtation?”

“I’m an expert at seduction,” he said. “If you get bored while you’re here, let me know, and we’ll find out if you have a knack for it yourself.”

She blushed furiously and started toward her bedchamber.

“Goodnight, Sister,” he called to her retreating back.

“Goodnight, Mr. Hubbard.”

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I can’t wait,” she groused.

“Neither can I.”

There was a taunting tone in his remark that made her halt and peer over at him. He was staring at her like a cat toying with a mouse, like a hawk circling its prey.

“Leave me be,” she said. “Please?”

Looking decadent and debauched, he grinned. “I’ll try—but not very hard.”

“I don’t want this from you. If I’ve acted in a manner that was—”

He cut her off. “I
think
, Sister Faithful, that you’re lonely and scared.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Liar.” He smirked. “I also think I might be able to give you exactly what you need to fix what’s wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“Isn’t there?”

The question hung in the air between them, and while she yearned to apprise him of the numerous reasons she was better than ever, the truth was that he was correct. She was a mess, confused and afraid and certain all her decisions were idiotic.

But she’d never admit it.

She spun and fled before she could devise an excuse to remain.

CHAPTER FOUR

“Checkmate.”

“How did you do that so fast?”

Rowena scowled at Mr. Robertson. She was excellent at chess, but he’d bested her in twelve moves, and he’d barely hesitated in order to consider his strategy.

“My father was a master at it,” he said, “and we played all the time.”

“He taught you?”

“Yes, and my brothers too, but they’re all smart as the devil, so it was impossible to beat them.”

“So you’ve taken to beating me instead. Do you enjoy beating women?”

“Well…” He paused, realized the double entendre, and laughed. “You’re a sly one, aren’t you? Yes, I like beating women—at chess and other games.”

She laughed too, liking how young she felt, how free and liberated from the restrictions of a life she loathed. Except for the stupid wimple covering her hair, she might have been any other twenty-year-old girl flirting with a handsome man. And she was delighted to report that he was
very
handsome.

He resembled Mr. Hubbard in many ways, closely enough in some respects that they might have been brothers. Tall and fit, with Mr. Hubbard’s same six feet in height, Mr. Robertson’s shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his legs lean and muscled. He had black hair, worn long and unbarbered like Mr. Hubbard’s, but while Mr. Hubbard’s eyes were very blue, Mr. Robertson’s were the most delightful shade of green.

As she’d deduced early on, the true difference between him and Mr. Hubbard was in their character. Mr. Hubbard was arrogant, curt, and imperious, and he didn’t seem to like people very much. Mr. Robertson was his exact opposite.

He was happy and contented, glad to have a woman in the house, glad he had a new person to talk to. If he was worried about his predicament of being trapped in Africa without the resources to go home, he didn’t show it.

She sighed, wishing she were a man. He was male and a bachelor, which meant he could work at a job, travel with his employer, visit Egypt and other exotic places. He could have adventures and fend for himself and get into and out of various jams, and he was never reprimanded or told to behave better.

He’d glommed on to a property that wasn’t his and was being scandalously pampered by servants who weren’t his own. Apparently he felt no moral compunction to end his idyll, to conduct himself more appropriately. Nor did he appear to feel guilty over his good fortune in landing himself in such an interesting quandary.

“Why are you sighing?” he asked. “Am I boring you?”

“No, I’m not bored.”

He was completely attuned to her, and she was thrilled by his attention. At the convent, no one noticed her unless she spoke too loudly or ignored her assigned chores.

“I was thinking how lucky you are,” she said.

“Lucky? How am I lucky?”

“You’re a man.”

“Yes, and we rule the world.”

“You’re living in this dramatic spot, and there’s no one to tell you that you can’t.”

“Well, except the true owner who I expect will barge in one of these days and boot us out.”

“What will you do then?”