To Sin With A Scoundrel (21 page)

“Oh, God, I think I shall puke if you mention food.” Ingalls sprawled into one of the dining chairs and took his head between
his hands. “I had better have another brandy.”

Farnam brought over the bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”

Lud, was he always such a sorry sight after a night of carousing?
Lucas slowly chewed a bite of his toast, finding the mingled reek of smoke, sex, and stale perfume was leaving a rather sour
taste in his mouth.

“When did you arrive back in Town?” he inquired. “I thought you planned to spend the month in Kent.”

“Yesterday,” said Farnam. He frowned. “Or was it the day before?”

“’S’hard to remember,” agreed Ingalls with a grimace. “Hell, it’s hard to tell time when you never see a wink of daylight.”

Lucas watched his friend slosh another helping of spirits into his glass, spilling half of it onto the carpet. “Er, why
did
we come?” muttered Farnam. “I know there was a bloody good reason…”

“The mill!” Ingalls straightened somewhat.

“Oh, right, the mill!” Farnam slapped a hand to his head. “We just got word—Booker, the Negro champion from Jamaica, is set
to meet McTavish, the Hulk of the Highlands, in the village of Cookham this afternoon.”

“For a purse that is rumored to be over a thousand pounds,” added Ingalls. “The betting is already astronomical.”

“Aye, it promises to be the fight of the decade! And if we don’t get moving, we’ll never get near ringside.” Farnam struggled
to his feet. “Where the devil is Greeley with the carriage? He should have been here by now.”

“Going the last few rounds with Mathilde—you know, Lucas, the ladybird you left behind.” Ingalls lewdly rocked his hips and
guffawed. “A few stiff jabs and his opponent will cry surrender.”

Funny, but such schoolboy chortlings did not seem half so witty when one was sober, observed Lucas.

“Mad, Bad Had-ley ain’t interested in Mathilde anymore. He no doubt has a luscious new set of feathers to pluck.” Farnam leered.
“Who is she?”

Lucas poured himself another cup of coffee.

“You can squeeze his whirligigs for the answer once we are in the carriage, Freddy,” said Ingalls. “Bolt down your eggs, Lucas.
We have to be off.”

He made no move to rise. “Sorry, gentlemen. You will have to go on without me.”

“What!”
Both of their jaws dropped in unison.

“I have a previous engagement for the afternoon.”

“Bloody hell! Break it! What could be more important than watching two goliaths try to batter each other into submission?”
added Ingalls.

Champion pugilists, raucous crowds, oceans of ale
… For an instant, Lucas was sorely tempted. “Sorry, I can’t.”

His friends blinked in disbelief.

“But why—”

Farnam’s sputtering was cut short by Greeley, who sailed through the door with his shirttails still flapping around his thighs.
“By God, I’ll tell you why. I just ran into Jervis on the street, and he filled me in on the latest news.” Making a mock bow
of obeisance, Greeley went on to explain. “Our Mad, Bad Had-ley has upstaged the prize fight. Indeed, he has knocked all of
London on its ear. He’s announced his engagement.” He burst out laughing. “To the Wicked Widow.”

His other two friends doubled over in mirth.

“Do be a sport, Lucas, and let your friends buy into the bet, whatever it is,” said Greeley, once he had caught his breath.

“Aye, we want to share in the fun,” urged Farnam after another chortle. “What buffle-headed idiot was willing to wager that
you wouldn’t dare do it?”

“The fellow doesn’t know you like we do,” said Greeley.

“What I want to know is what stunt you have planned to get out of it.” Ingalls fixed him with an expectant grin. “It’s got
to be a real corker.”

Lucas calmly consulted his pocket watch. “You are going to be late if you don’t leave now. And so am I.”

“Leave off your joking, Lucas. Our carriage is waiting.”

Comrades. Cavorting. Not a care in the world.
He drew in a deep breath, the devils in the back of his head all urging him to say yes.

“Sorry, but no.”

“Satan’s arse,” growled Ingalls. “What in the devil has got into you?”

Perhaps a modicum of good sense
. Lucas couldn’t explain it, even to himself. Shrugging, he rose. “Nothing. I simply have something else to do.”

“If you are sneaking off to swive the widow, just say so.” Farnam winked at the others. “We can keep a secret.”

His hand shot out for his friend’s throat, but he caught himself in the nick of time. Tapping a light pat to Greeley’s shoulder,
he smiled. “Let’s leave the lady out of this, shall we?”

Dumbfounded, Greeley could only stare in mute surprise.

“Now, if you all will excuse me, I must be on my way.”

“Are we really going for a walk in the park?” asked Peregrine.

“Yes,” replied Ciara, trying to decide which bonnet to wear. All of a sudden, they all looked so dowdy.

“With Lord Hadley?” persisted her son.

“Yes.” She sighed. “Unless he changes his mind. Gentlemen like His Lordship lead very busy lives in Town, so it’s possible
he may have to cancel at the last moment.”

It was also possible that Hadley would forget. Or decide that such a public display of courtship was unnecessary, after all.
Last night, she had tried to dissuade him from the idea of attending the
ton’
s daily ritual. The only purpose of the fashionable afternoon promenade was to see and be seen. But Lucas had been strangely
stubborn about it, raising his voice enough to attract sidelong glances from the other guests. His argument that Peregrine
would enjoy seeing all the fancy had silenced her misgivings.

Now she wasn’t so sure. Ciara smoothed a tangle from the ribbons. She was a little nervous. A Mayfair ballroom had been bad
enough, but all of Society strolled along Rotten Row, eager to keep up with the latest
ondits
and scandals.

No doubt she and Hadley were the talk of the town.

“I like Lord Hadley, Mama,” said Peregrine after a lengthy pause. “Do you?”

“He has been very kind in showing you the fine points of cricket,” she said evasively.

“Marianne says… she says that you are going to marry him.”

Damn.
She would have to speak to the maid about repeating gossip in front of her son.

“Perry…” Turning from the cheval glass, Ciara took a seat on her bed beside the boy. “Lord Hadley and I have agreed to help…
a friend. And to do so we must…” She hesitated, unsure of how to explain things to Peregrine.

He looked up at her, his blue eyes very solemn and serious. “You must tell a little white lie?”

Oh dear, this was going to be even more difficult than she imagined
.

“To tell a lie is very wrong, Perry. The earl and I have announced that we are engaged to be married, which is the truth.
But whether we actually become man and wife is another thing altogether. We are allowed to change our minds.”

“Oh.” He dropped his gaze. “I think I understand.”

Her heart gave a lurch, but any further attempts to explain the situation were ended by the maid’s announcement that Lord
Hadley was waiting downstairs.

Peregrine was very quiet as they left the townhouse and headed for the park, but the earl quickly coaxed him into lively discussion
on upcoming cricket matches at Lord’s. Ciara listened in silence, wondering if she had made a mistake in allowing Lucas to
get close to her son.

Right and wrong.
If only there were a scientific formula that spelled out the difference in no uncertain terms.

As they walked through the Cumberland Gate, Lucas headed toward the wide carriageway straight ahead.

“That’s the famous Rotten Row,” he said to Peregrine.

The boy giggled. “What a silly name.”

“It’s said to derive from the French
Route de Roi
, or King’s Road,” replied Lucas. “King William III built the avenue in 1690, in order to have a safe way to travel between
St. James’s Palace and his new court at Kensington Palace. At night, it was lit by over three hundred oil lamps.”

Her son appeared suitably impressed.

“Today, it is a popular spot for a promenade,” continued Lucas. “The Tulips of the
ton
like to come and show off their horses and carriages. See, there goes Lord Huntfield in his new high perch phaeton. And over
there is Sir Sidney, mounted on a chestnut hunter from Ireland…”

Hadley kept up a running commentary as they joined the strolling crowd. Ciara was aware of the sidelong stares and whispers,
but the earl merely smiled and returned the greetings with a nonchalant wave.

“Don’t look so apprehensive, Lady Sheffield,” he murmured. “If you will notice, you are garnering your share of pleasantries.”

To her amazement, Ciara saw that he was right. The looks were not all hostile, and a number of people met her gaze with a
polite nod.

“Do you ride, lad?” asked Lucas in response to one of Peregrine’s eager questions.

“A little, sir.” The boy looked longingly at the parade of horses. “Mama says perhaps when I am a little older she will hire
a riding master for me.”

“No reason to wait. I happened to be at Tattersall’s this morning and saw a splendid pony for sale.” Catching her eye, he
flashed an apologetic grin. “I took the liberty of purchasing the animal, so if your mama has no objection, I could give you
some basic lessons.”

Peregrine’s mute appeal was impossible to deny. “That is very kind, Lord Hadley. An occasional ride will be fine, but, Perry,
you must not pester him too much.”

“I promise, Mama!”

On seeing her son’s beaming face, Ciara didn’t have the heart to be cross with Lucas for making such a move without her permission.
Still, it
was
a little unsettling. Her life seemed to be slipping out of her control.

“Sorry,” he murmured, inching a touch closer as they walked. “I hope you don’t disapprove.”

“It was very thoughtful of you. But next time, please consult me in advance before making decisions about my son,” she replied.
“I don’t like surprises.”

He answered with a wink. “Ah, but surprises are what add a little spice to life.”

Ciara could not help but smile. “Perhaps. But please do not pepper Peregrine with too many new things. Our life may seem bland
and boring to you, sir. However, I prefer that it stay predictable.”

They walked on for a way in silence, and then halfway down the drive, Lucas turned down one of the graveled footpaths. “Enough
of horses, lad. Let’s have a look at the Serpentine. At this hour of day, there are sometimes some boating enthusiasts sailing
their pond yachts in the shallow waters.”

She couldn’t help but admire his sangfroid. “You are certainly taking this sudden upheaval of your life in stride, sir.”

“My life was not exactly stable to begin with.” He smiled as Peregrine raced ahead, following the antics of a small dog playing
with a stick. “Besides, it doesn’t take much exertion on my part to indulge in a pleasant walk with such charming company.”

Ciara expelled a sigh. The thought of how soon the charade was likely to end made her reply a little sharply. “You need not
wax poetic when we are in private.”

“What makes you think I am exaggerating my sentiments, Lady Sheffield?”

“The fact that you are a shameless flirt and notorious womanizer,” she said, unwilling to meet his gaze.

“You left out ‘lewd libertine,’” he murmured.

“The litany of your sins probably stretches from here to Hades,” said Ciara, repressing a smile. “But I saw no need to go
on past the first few.”

“Thank you for sparing my delicate sensibilities.”

Oh Lud, there was no denying that he had a devilishly sly sense of humor.
She would miss their banter.

“Be serious for a moment, sir.” Seeing his gaze drift to a wooded area bordering the path ahead, she let her words trail off.
Perry had veered off to chase the dog across a wide expanse of grass—

Suddenly, from out of the trees burst a horse and rider at full gallop. Hooves slashing like scimitars, the big black stallion
thundered over the turf, kicking up clods of earth.

Ciara opened her mouth to scream, but Lucas was already making a mad dash for her son.

With a last, desperate leap, he managed to knock Peregrine down and keep him from being trampled beneath the pounding stride.

“Hadley!”

In twisting to shield her son, Lucas had caught a flailing kick to his chest. He now lay on the ground, still and silent.

Gathering her skirts, Ciara raced to his side. After a quick hug of her son assured her that Peregrine was unharmed, she fell
to her knees. “Hadley!” Her breath was barely more than a whisper as she struggled to loosen his cravat.

“Is he hurt, Mama?” Peregrine, his face pale as a ghost, stared down at the earl.

“I pray not, lambkin,” she replied, feeling for a pulse.

To her relief, the earl’s eyes fluttered open. “P—erry?” he croaked.

“Is unharmed,” she answered. “Thanks to your heroics.”

Lucas tried to sit up but fell back with a wince. “Oh, hell. Another coat ruined,” he said, feeling at the large tear at his
shoulder. “My valet will never let me hear the end of it.”