Heart of a Scoundrel (Handful of Hearts Book 4)

by Jenna Jaxon

  His butler let him in, and after shedding his hat and coat, he perused the late post, which contained only a letter from his father. Something about the betrothal, most likely, and of little consequence. About to toss it onto the table, he thought better of it and popped the seal instead. One never knew for sure what Father’s scheming might bring—he could’ve written to tell him the betrothal had been called off.

  Richard’s spirits rose at the thought. After experiencing the exhilarating company of Amanda Sharpe the past week or so, he found Lady Edith held even fewer charms for him. Of course, his interest in Miss Sharpe rested solely in her ability to win him his racing stable, but he had enjoyed flirting and toying with her. A very vivacious lady. He’d miss that once they parted.

  Quickly perusing the letter, he discovered that Lord Drummond was indeed due to sign the settlement papers next week. That would certainly put paid to his freedom. Why the devil did Father have to have a bee in his proverbial bonnet about Lord Drummond’s parcel of land in the Highlands? Any other piece would do as well and not saddle him with a bride he cared for not at all. He crumpled the letter in his fist and, with a flick of his wrist, pitched it into the fireplace, where the fire burned merrily in the grate. The smooth cream paper smoldered before suddenly bursting into flames.

  Heading for the sideboard, Richard heaped curses on his father’s head. Pouring a good three fingers of the dark amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, he mused on the lovely color of the spirit then knocked it back, relishing the burn coursing down his throat. Much good had been accomplished tonight.

  Miss Sharpe—or Amanda, as he so willingly called her—had all but thrown herself at him in the lane in Vauxhall. True, he’d managed to get her alone, but she’d been most eager to follow where he led. Not at all what a proper lady would do, when one thought of it. Still, if given the choice of a decorous lady or a hoyden, he’d have to admit, he’d find the hoyden much more attractive.

  Fortunately, she trusted him implicitly, which spoke well of his mastery in deceit, but not of her good judgment. In other things, he’d admit, she had excellent discernment. And a ruthless streak he’d not expected when he met her, but which had drawn him to her as to no other lady of his acquaintance. Were like natures always attracted to one another? Their one foray into card playing a deux, a game of vingt et un at the card party after they’d had refreshments, had ended in her besting him by an impressive number of counters. Efficient and merciless. What better woman to run his household? And if she were beautiful and witty into the bargain—

  He pulled himself up short. What the blue blazes was he thinking? Miss Sharpe was a means to an end, nothing more. Just as Lady Edith was a means to Father getting his hunting property.

  The situation was annoying, but he must not be too vexed about the state of affairs with Lady Edith. As Father had said, once the lady had given him an heir and a spare, he’d have done his duty and could move on to more enticing beds. Miss Sharpe’s bed would entice him in a heart’s beat. Could he persuade her to become his mistress, perhaps? The tantalizing image of him and Amanda entwined in a lovers embrace made his blood stir. He could almost feel her soft skin, smell the sweet fragrance that was hers alone. They could indulge in all manner of soul-stirring kisses and more if she became his—

  Damn. What was he thinking? That old dragon, Mrs. Doyle, would see the girl locked up in a convent before she allowed her charge to sink so low, not to mention what her father might do. But in his dreams, he carried Miss Sharpe far beyond the mild flirtation he’d initiated tonight. Beyond the simple kisses he’d almost indulged in this evening.

  It would’ve been so easy to kiss her, to show her how sweet and delicious his kisses could be. Her luscious body pressed to his had driven him to the brink of exploding, and not just once or twice. If he hadn’t broken it off that last time, he would’ve laid her down on the grass, under the thick bushes, and the evening would’ve concluded in a much different way. Possibly in his engagement to Miss Sharpe.

  Amazingly, the thought gave no rise to panic. He’d restrained himself and given a plausible story to account for his remarkable self-control. Such a blessing his tale didn’t seem to have raised alarms in Miss Sharpe. Still, he’d have thought the prospect of the parson’s mousetrap being sprung on him by the daughter of a surgeon would have terrified him to a much greater degree. Perhaps he feared it less as he was certain Amanda would’ve been a delightful armful from the day they married. Her warm response at Vauxhall strongly suggested that. An aspect that made her much more appealing than Lady Edith who, given her strict upbringing, wouldn’t be nearly so much fun. Not to mention Amanda’s spirit and their similar natures. Such a wife would be worth being faithful to.

  He shook his head and poured another tumbler of brandy. Father never stinted on the vintage when it came to providing his wine. His golden rule was to give his heir whatever he wanted—within reason, of course—in exchange for his obedience in all the things that mattered. Such as whom he married. What a pity Father had been dead serious about disinheriting him in every way possible if he reneged on his promise to marry Lady Edith. His current allowance would also dry up like a rose in a desert if he refused. If he decided he wanted his freedom just a little longer. Or wanted to marry another young lady.

  The knocker sounded on his door, and Brightson went to answer it.

  Who the devil would call round at this hour? It had to be after midnight.

  His butler appeared in the doorway. “Mr. Eric Conroy, my lord.”

  Eric strode in and made straight to the sideboard. “Evening, Somersby. Help a fellow out with a spot of something wet, will you? If I don’t get a brandy soon, I’ll die.”

  “Help yourself. You obviously know where it is.” Waving Brightson away, Richard settled deeper into his chair. “Were you at Stoll’s or Cardrew’s? I assume you weren’t particularly successful or you wouldn’t be in dire need of a drink.”

  “Why would you think I’ve been in a gaming hell?” With an unsteady hand, Eric poured a generous amount of the cognac into his glass and gulped noisily.

  “The stench of desperation and smoke.”

  Sniffing the air, Eric curled his upper lip and wrinkled his nose. “Gads, you’re right. I can never go home tonight. Mother will take one whiff and I’ll be sent to Coventry for the rest of the week.”

  “Douse yourself with cheap women’s scent and she’ll think you’ve been whoring instead.”

  “Please.” His friend slid into the chair opposite and groaned. “I’d be read the Riot Act and forced to listen to Mr. Hodgson’s sermons for a month at least. Better an unsuccessful wager than a successful bedding as far as Mother is concerned.”

  Grinning, Richard sipped his drink and relaxed. Thank God his father was made of a different mettle and actually encouraged his sons’ vices. His mother did not, but as she was permanently in the country, she had little influence over him.

  “How goes your seduction? Will you dupe Miss Sharpe in time to win your stable?” Eric smoothly deflected scrutiny.

  “I believe so. We went to see the fireworks at Vauxhall this evening. It was quite…stimulating.” Memory of Amanda’s soft body so close to his, her sweet scent and even sweeter lips, made him shift uncomfortably in his chair. Usually, he lost interest in women as soon as they were out of his sight. This one, however, seemed to linger in his senses.

  “Oh, ho. Something more of the conquest than the other two? She is rather a tempting armful, in a milk and honey sort of way.” Eric cut his gaze over to Richard. “You’re not actually dangling after her, are you? You’re to marry the duke’s daughter, you said.”

  “Indeed I am. A letter from Father arrived today confirming the signing of the settlements next week.”

  “Then you’d best not get caught compromising some other young woman or you’ll be in the suds for certain.”

  “I intend no such thing, Eric. I have Miss Sharpe exactly where she should be—on the brink of a declaration
.” God, but he didn’t wish to have this conversation with Eric.

  Restless, Richard rose and went to the sideboard. Amanda might very well have confessed love, or at the very least a tendre for him tonight, had he indeed kissed her. So why had he not done so? Topping up his drink, he turned to face his guest.

  “Good show, old chap. Has she provided the evidence yet?” Eric sat forward in his chair expectantly.

  “On the brink, Eric. I believe she’ll send me what I need in a matter of days. We parted tonight on excellent terms.” The joyful look on her face had actually tugged at his heart for a moment.

  “In the nick of time then. Good show.” Eric drained his glass and set it on the table next to him. “Shall we go to Tattersall’s on Monday, see if you can find a prime bit of blood to begin your stable?”

  “Splendid idea.”

  “I say, tomorrow we can go round to Livingston’s. He owns several race horses and would love to show us his stable. If something strikes your fancy, perhaps you can persuade him to sell. Then afterward, back to Mother’s for Sunday dinner.”

  The suggestion sounded like a very pleasant two-day lark. Trouble was, he’d planned to see Amanda at church in the morning and inquire if she’d like to go for a ride in Hyde Park. He didn’t need to do it but had thought she’d enjoy the experience. However, perhaps such an outing would be a bit more public than he ought to go. Father would understand what he was up to, but if Drummond got wind of his activities, he might spoil the betrothal. And much as he’d love to do that, he’d not risk his fortune in pursuit of a racing stable. Instead, he’d let Miss Sharpe stew for a couple of days, until she’d be desperate to see him. At that point, he’d deliver the coup de grâce and walk away.

  Rather peculiar that the thought of doing such a thing didn’t give him the pleasure it had with the first two young ladies. Likely he’d simply tired of the whole affair. Once he won his wager, he’d be set to rights again.

  “Thank you. That will do nicely as a distraction while I wait for Miss Sharpe’s capitulation.” Richard set his glass on the sideboard then paced over to the fireplace. No trace remained of Father’s letter save wisps of ash. He’d answer it in the morning.

  “If you’ll come around to Mother’s, at say one o’clock tomorrow, you’ll be in good time.” Eric stood and stretched. “God, I hate going back there now. Wish I had my own lodgings, but Father won’t hear of it. Being the younger son is quite the trial.”

  “I’d think you’d be used to it by now.”

  “I am, but I don’t have to like it. ‘Til tomorrow.”

  After Eric had left, Richard roamed the room, not wanting to go to bed, but unsure what to do instead. He picked up a newspaper, but put it down immediately. Not wanting to sit still, he contemplated going out again, but neither did he want company. Being at sixes and sevens didn’t sit well with him, especially when, deep down, he understood what the problem was.

  Amanda.

  Shaking his head, he seized his glass again and poured it half full. All the while he’d spoken to Eric about her, a voice in the back of his mind had been whispering to him. Warning him that what he planned to do was a mistake. He gulped the spirits, hoping to drown out that insistent voice that confirmed what he feared to be true: for the first time in his life he’d come to care for someone other than himself.

  How the hell she’d done it, he couldn’t say, but Miss Amanda Sharpe, with her big blue eyes, her soft, luscious body, and resolute spirit had gained his admiration and regard. Fervent admiration, to be exact. Originally, when he’d gotten her alone down the path, his plan had been to kiss her. The things she’d said, the way she’d gazed at him all week when she thought he didn’t notice, had revealed how deeply she’d come to care for him. As he’d intended all along. However, when the moment had come, he’d stepped away and spoken truthfully that they must mind her reputation. The damned thing was, it would not have mattered, really, had he kissed her. No one had been there to witness it.

  And he had wanted to kiss her, wanted her as badly as any woman he’d ever desired. But suddenly he’d not wanted to sully her with his false kiss. He’d wanted her to remain pure, untouched by him or anyone. A bigger folly he’d never committed. If he’d kissed the woman, perhaps he’d be able to stop thinking about her.

  In an effort to do just that, he gulped the last three swallows of brandy, the burn sliding quickly into his stomach. He had to quash this damnable, sentimental regard for her now, before it was too late. It had no place in his life if he wanted it to go on as it always had, with the wealth and privilege he’d grown to expect. He must put these feelings aside, finish the wager, and marry Lady Edith. He repressed a shudder.

  He knew his father all too well. If he refused to marry the Duke of Drummond’s daughter, he’d make good his threat to disinherit him to the extent the law allowed. And he could no more live a life of relative poverty than he could fly. Worse, if he defied his father now, he’d likely be cut off without tuppence until his father died. Amanda’s inheritance would scarcely keep them clothed and fed until that time. He’d become a laughingstock throughout the ton for choosing love over family alliance.

  Love? Did he truly think he was in love with her? Idiotic.

  Abruptly, he set the glass down on the sideboard, the force making the crystal ring hollowly. He needed to leave this apartment, find someone to talk to about anything else in the world other than love or Miss Sharpe.

  And yet the image of her lovely face kept appearing in his mind, changing from utmost happiness to utter despair when he informed her he couldn’t marry her. In the vision, he said goodbye, watched her expression crumple then walked away. His heart grew leaden just thinking of it, yet it would come to pass. He simply had no choice.

  Grabbing his hat, he started to call for the butler, but stopped. Where could he go? His acquaintances at his club would undoubtedly wish to talk about the wager. He could go to a gaming hell, but as distracted as he was, he’d surely lose abominably. A lady-bird might take his mind off things temporarily, but the idea of sexual congress with a light woman repulsed him for the first time in his life.

  With a curse, he strode into the bedroom, called for his valet, and stood dismal as a drake while his man stripped him and readied him for bed. At last, he climbed between the crisp sheets, determinedly refusing to think of who he would and would not be sharing a bed with in the near future, and snuffed out the light.

  He lay back, one arm beneath this head, wide awake and cursing his father for putting him in this position. Win or lose, this was one wager he wished to God he’d never taken.

  Chapter 8

  Sitting in the pew at St. George’s on Sunday morning, Amanda twisted her neck to and fro, trying to catch a glimpse of Richard. The dark, glossy wooden seats held the throng of church parishioners gathered in the austere nave this morning, but turn and squirm though she might, the gentleman she sought simply wasn’t here.

  “Amanda, please stop fidgeting.” Mrs. Doyle leaned over to whisper in her ear, “You’re acting like a child of six. What has gotten into you this morning?”

  “Nothing, Mrs. Doyle. I’m sorry.” Clasping her gloved hands together, she laid them in her lap, determined not to search for him anymore. He obviously wasn’t attending church this morning. Perhaps the outing to Vauxhall had overtired him. Both she and Mrs. Doyle had lain abed late this morning, the events of last evening and the ensuing excitement, at least on Amanda’s part, having worn them out. Still, they’d arrived at St. George’s in good time.

  Had Richard overslept himself? Perhaps after Vauxhall, he’d gone out again, perhaps drinking with his friends, or to a gaming hell. Celinda had told her about his fondness for gaming and their own spirited game of cards Monday night had demonstrated his love of wagering. Or might he have caroused late—in the arms of another woman?

  Oh, what a wicked thought to have, and in church! Amanda closed her eyes and said a hasty prayer for forgiveness. Of course Richard wouldn
’t do such a thing, not after almost kissing her on the darkened path. The depth of feeling he must’ve had to restrain, to come so close to kissing her and stop when obviously he did not wish to, was completely admirable, if somewhat disappointing. She truly wished he had kissed her. Not that such an act would’ve bound them in any legal way, but it might have in an emotional one. And she would’ve loved to have been able to savor that memory whenever she thought of him. Like now.

  Oh, dear. Was she being sacrilegious again? It was so hard to think pure thoughts when her affections were entirely engaged by Richard. That she’d met him little more than a week ago made her feelings that much more surprising. She’d never been officially courted while living in Wellesbourne, but she had attended assemblies and parties there, and had been the object of interest of several nice young men. Therefore, she hadn’t been without some experience when she’d been introduced to Richard. None of those gentlemen, however, had prepared her for how singular this man was. Certainly different in manners and breeding from the other men she’d known, but different also in the way he treated her, the deference he’d shown her from the moment they met. Quite frankly, something about him had called to her from the instant of their introduction. Had whispered to her that perhaps he was the one.

  As the rector, Mr. Hodgson, continued his sermon in a voice that droned on and on, Amanda recalled each encounter she’d had with Richard: their first dance, then the supper at Lady Hamilton’s, last week at church, playing cards, Gunter’s, Almack’s, and finally their tryst last evening at Vauxhall. True, they hadn’t known each other for very long, yet looking back on their acquaintance, it seemed an age. Perhaps because they seemed to have made each encounter meaningful. She now believed she understood Richard’s character as no other young lady had ever done. Pray God she could use that information to her advantage. If only she could see him again. It was nearly impossible to make the man fall in love with her if they didn’t meet.