My Scoundrel

by Cheryl Holt

  “Don’t hurt me. Swear that you won’t.”

  “Hurt you?” he muttered. “Gad, I’d rather cut off my arm.”

  “I’m so afraid of where this is leading.”

  “There’s no need to be afraid.”

  “You demand so many things from me, but I don’t know how to give them to you.”

  “I’ll show you how.”

  “Don’t break my heart. Promise me.”

  “Of course I won’t. I promise.”

  It was a dishonest reply, but he offered it anyway. On the battlefield, where death was always a possibility, his word was his bond. In all other endeavors, he was a deceitful scoundrel. In his sexual quests, he was no different than any other man. He would take what he wanted and damn the consequences.

  He would persist in his relationship with her, but he still planned to leave Stafford at the earliest opportunity. If rumors spread after he was gone, he wouldn’t be around to defend her, and he wouldn’t come back to fix any damage he’d caused.

  Marriage was the sole remedy that would make her whole, but it wasn’t one he could provide. He was engaged to another, and even if he wasn’t, she would never be the bride he would choose.

  She wasn’t a wealthy daughter of the ton, so as a wife, she held no appeal. But she held a vast amount of appeal in other, more corporeal ways that he was eager to exploit.

  Except that, when she gazed at him as she was, he caught himself hesitating. Perish the thought! He—who never hesitated—suddenly felt guilty.

  He’d visited her room to press his advantage, to take whatever she could be coerced into surrendering, but now, he was second-guessing. He had to behave more honorably than he’d envisioned he would. Not that he had to be a saint, but he couldn’t act like the most despicable sinner.

  “It will be all right, Em,” he vowed. “Trust me.”

  “I absolutely don’t.”

  He chuckled, wishing he could be the man she needed.

  “We’ll be cautious,” he insisted.

  “Even if we’re cautious, you can’t predict what might occur.”

  “Yes, I can. I’m the master of my universe. If I decree that nothing bad will transpire, then nothing bad will.”

  She sighed. “Vain beast. How can I resist you?”

  It was precisely the sort of capitulation he’d been anxious to attain.

  He began kissing her, going slow, reveling in the moment, and he was astonished at how much he enjoyed it. Usually, he didn’t waste any effort on kissing. Since he fornicated mostly with whores, he never delayed. Carnal release was the goal, so there was no point in dawdling.

  Yet with Emeline, he was content to tarry, and he was learning that the real pleasure was in the journey, not in the abrupt ending.

  He dropped to her nipples, laving them as her hips flexed with his own. Her robe was open, her loins crushed to his. The fabric of his trousers was all that kept him from racing to ecstasy, and it took every ounce of fortitude he possessed to ignore his raging anatomy.

  He touched her between her legs, his fingers sliding into her sheath. She was wet and ready, and instantly, he pushed her into a potent orgasm.

  This time, she knew what was coming and what her body was doing. She soared to the heavens, oohing and aahing in a fashion that thrilled and sobered him.

  She was so naïve, so unschooled in the wicked ways of the world. It was rare when he crossed paths with a person who was so . . . normal. He always forgot that she was unsullied and free from the depravity upon which he thrived.

  Her excitement waned, while his ardor remained unassuaged. He shifted off her and spooned himself to her back. They were quiet, pensive, as he stroked a hand up and down her arm and hip.

  “You’re smiling,” she eventually said. “Why?”

  “I seduced you so quickly that I didn’t bother to remove any of my clothes. My shirt is still buttoned, and my boots are still on.”

  “Should I worry about your lusty appetites? Are you in the habit of disrobing around women?”

  He swatted her rump. “None of your business, my little scamp.”

  She purred and stretched, her curvaceous bottom snuggled to his inflamed cockstand. He moaned in agony and pulled her nearer so he could relish a long thrust that was completely unsatisfying.

  “You’ve made me a wanton,” she admitted.

  “Good.”

  “Next time, I want you to undress. I want to see you.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He was having enough trouble restraining himself with his trousers on. If he was naked, there was no telling what he might do.

  “You never told me why you couldn’t sleep,” she drowsily mumbled.

  “I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Such as . . . ?” When he didn’t respond, she rose up on an elbow and peered back at him. “Share a secret with me.”

  He stared into her big green eyes and was amazed to hear himself confess, “It’s so strange to be here at Stafford.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s supposed to be my home now, but I never had a home. I can’t fathom how to embrace it.”

  “You’ll figure out how.”

  “Yes, I imagine I will.”

  He settled her down so she wasn’t looking at him.

  He never talked about his feelings with anyone, and he didn’t like that he’d discussed his conflicted sentiments regarding Stafford. With how attracted he was to her, she had an enormous physical hold over him. He couldn’t have her garnering an emotional one too.

  “What will become of me and my sisters?” She yawned through her query. “You never answered that question either.”

  “What would you like to occur?”

  “I’d like to suddenly discover that I’m heir to a great fortune. I’d like to be incredibly rich, where I never again have to fret over how to support myself. Sort of like what happened to you, for instance.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Your life isn’t so bad, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “You merely like to complain.”

  He snorted. “You could be right about that.”

  She reached over her shoulder and laid her palm on his cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it rocked him to his core. He shut his eyes and reveled in an onslaught of affection.

  “Seriously, Em,” he said when he could speak again, “if you could have anything you wanted, what would it be?”

  “I can’t think of a single thing. It’s been so long since I’ve had a wish come true that I’ve forgotten how to dream.”

  Her reply was too sad, and he was on the verge of offering her gifts he was certain she’d never cherish.

  It was the first time he’d genuinely appreciated his money and position. He’d like to spoil her—if she’d allow him to. The problem was that he couldn’t so much as buy her a damn dress without her spitting in outrage.

  Wasn’t that just his luck? He’d finally found a female upon whom he’d like to lavish some of his largesse, but she refused his generosity.

  “Let me reopen the school,” she begged.

  “You and your blasted school,” he scoffed, though kindly.

  “I want to be useful to you.”

  “You are useful to me.” He caressed a naughty hand down her flank.

  “Why do you hate Stafford so much?”

  “Ancient history, Em. It’s not important.”

  “It is to me.”

  “Give it a rest.”

  “I will—for now. But I’ll ask you again tomorrow.”

  “I might tell you. If I’m feeling charitable.”

  She grew quiet, and he thought she’d dozed off when she said, “I’d like to show you around the estate. If you could meet some of your tenants and learn of their t
ribulations, I know you’d be happier.”

  “We’ll see.” He toyed with her hair, riffling through the lush strands. “Go to sleep.”

  “I will, but don’t you fall asleep too.”

  “I’ll try not to.”

  “I mean it. You can’t be caught in here.”

  “I won’t be.”

  He nestled with her, listening as her breathing slowed, as her body relaxed. It was a magical moment, the likes of which he’d never previously experienced with a woman, and he didn’t want to leave.

  His erection hadn’t waned in the slightest, and he wondered how he would bear up with being so constantly aroused.

  Had he decided not to deflower her? It wasn’t healthy to be so titillated, and if he wouldn’t push her into copulation, he had to get himself to London and find someone to tend his needs.

  To his amazement, he wasn’t in any hurry to return to the city. Would he stay on at Stafford? Was that his plan?

  There were only five weeks left of his furlough from the army. Five weeks to remain at Stafford and dally with Emeline. Or five weeks to spend in London where every conceivable vice and vixen were available.

  The very idea—that he would choose Emeline and Stafford over the thrills to be had in town—was terrifying. What was happening to him?

  He slipped out of her bed, grabbed a quilt, and tucked it around her. For an eternity, he gazed at her, reflecting on how small she looked, how content.

  She’d suffered no qualms over slumbering in his presence, and she was a fool to trust him. She supposed—wrongly—that he had her best interests at heart, but he was stupidly, pathetically glad that she did.

  He went to the door, peeked out, and tiptoed away.

  Oscar Blair marched down the aisle of the church, his robes billowing out, a Bible clutched to his chest. Organ music rattled the rafters, reminding everyone of God’s power over them.

  The Sunday service was concluded, and he exited onto the front steps. The congregation followed him out. It was the part of ministering he hated most, the socializing demanded of him as their leader.

  He was much happier when he was alone, filling his hours by reading Scripture and writing sermons.

  “May the Lord be with you,” he murmured, shaking hands over and over.

  Not inclined to linger, he hurried people along. He kept glancing inside where Josephine was chatting with Emeline Wilson rather than Benedict Mason who was bringing up the rear of the crowd.

  Finally, Emeline strolled out.

  “Where are your sisters, Miss Wilson?” he asked. “You know I don’t allow children to miss services. It sets them on a bad path.”

  “They’ve come down with colds, Vicar Blair. I had them stay away so you weren’t interrupted by their sniffling.”

  A likely story, he fumed. Her father had been a recalcitrant churchgoer. Oscar had battled with him constantly over his sporadic attendance.

  “I’ll expect to see them next Sunday.”

  “I’m sure they’ll be better by then.”

  “They certainly should be, considering your sudden stroke of good fortune.”

  Her smile faltered. “What do you mean?”

  “You always manage to land on your feet, Emeline. It stokes your vanity.”

  She frowned. “What is stoking my vanity?”

  “You’re living at the manor and prevailing on the earl’s generosity. As usual, you’ve inserted yourself where you don’t belong and raised yourself above your class. There will be consequences. I suggest you be ready for them.”

  “I’m not prevailing on the earl,” she dared to argue. “He’s simply provided some Christian charity to me.”

  “You didn’t deserve any.”

  “And as to my residing in the manor, he’s hired me to work for him. I’m earning my keep.”

  “You are unwed,” he hissed, “but brazenly ensconced in the home of a known fornicator. A bachelor, no less. Your morals have flown out the window.”

  “Honestly, Vicar Blair, you shouldn’t—”

  “Don’t defend yourself to me. The Lord sees all, Emeline Wilson. You’ve been judged and found lacking.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re correct,” she blithely agreed. She gestured to the lane where a carriage was approaching. “If you’ll excuse me? I must be going.”

  She scurried away, and Oscar watched—aghast—as Lord Stafford arrived to pick her up. His vehicle was built for two, with just the narrow seat where they would sit very close together. It was scandalous!

  “Emeline,” he called, “what are you thinking?”

  “I told you. I’m working for the earl. I’m giving him a tour of the area.”

  “A tour? You and the earl—alone?”

  “We’ll be visiting some people in the neighborhood who are struggling.”

  Oscar wondered if he might faint. He’d practically begged for a meeting with Nicholas Price, but couldn’t wrangle one. Yet apparently, every miscreant in a five-mile radius would be blessed with an appointment.

  Emeline rubbed salt in his wound by saying, “I thought it might paint a better picture of what’s been happening.”

  It was so inappropriate for her to inject herself into men’s business. Why couldn’t she understand? As a female, she wasn’t intelligent enough to comprehend issues of significance, but she insinuated herself anyway.

  “I’ve counseled you and counseled you, Emeline, not to involve yourself in matters that don’t concern you.”

  “How can conditions at the estate not concern me? If the earl hadn’t taken pity on me, I’d be living in a ditch.”

  “His patronage has swelled your pride. For shame, Emeline! For shame!”

  “Sorry.” She shrugged as if the damage to her reputation—and eventually her soul—was of no import.

  Without so much as a wave of acknowledgment to Oscar, the earl jumped down to help Emeline climb in his gig.

  Oscar’s outrage increased. Emeline appeared to be bosom buddies with the earl, while he—Oscar—hadn’t met the man. Oscar had once been the old countess’s favorite, but now, he was being treated no differently than the lowest beggar.

  He stomped down the stairs and approached the couple.

  “Lord Stafford”—he extended his hand in welcome—“I am Vicar Blair.”

  It was extremely improper for Oscar to introduce himself, but what else could he do?

  “Hello, Blair.”

  The earl didn’t shake his outstretched hand. It dangled between them, and finally, Oscar dropped it.

  “You missed Sunday services,” Oscar complained.

  “You shouldn’t count on my attendance.”

  “But you must set an example for the community.”

  “I’m not interested in being an example.” The earl looked at the church, and he smirked. “Besides, if I walked through the doors, I might get struck by lightning.”

  He spun away, and Oscar bristled with indignation. He wouldn’t be dismissed as if he was of no consequence.

  “Lord Stafford!” he said more sharply then he’d intended.

  The earl whipped around. “What?”

  “I must know when you’ll come by the vicarage. We need to discuss the congregation and my future plans for it.”

  “I don’t care about your plans. Whatever you choose is fine with me. Just stop being such a sanctimonious busybody.”

  Oscar’s cheeks flamed red. His fury sparked. “I’m an expert at guiding my flock to the ways of the Lord. The old countess never had a word of criticism in how I conducted myself.”

  “Well, she’s no longer here, is she? I’m in charge, and I can’t abide your religious posturing.”

  “Lord Stafford,” Emeline interrupted, “if you were to—”

  “Emeline!” Oscar barked. “How many times must
I remind you? You are a woman, and thus, you have no place in this conversation. Be silent.”

  The earl turned to her. “You were saying, Miss Wilson?”

  “We’re keeping the vicar from his Sunday dinner. Perhaps we should be going.”

  “Yes, perhaps we should.”

  Oscar was so angry, he was trembling.

  He glared, mute and aggrieved, as the earl lifted her into the gig. He released her, then whirled to face Oscar, and Oscar humiliated himself by asking, “When will you be available for an appointment?”

  “I won’t ever be.” The earl leaned nearer and whispered, “Miss Wilson is an employee of mine. I don’t take kindly to her being disrespected. Not by anyone.”

  “Emeline requires regular male guidance. I shall render it whenever necessary.”

  “Insult her again, and I’ll pound you into the ground.”

  “You would threaten a man of the cloth?”

  “Push me, and I’ll do more than threaten. Don’t forget: You serve at my pleasure. How much do you value your job? Don’t annoy me or you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

  The arrogant brute sauntered away, went ’round the carriage, and climbed in. As if he hadn’t a care in the world, as if he hadn’t just offended a minister of the Church, he clicked the reins and they were off.

  Oscar understood that he possessed a sizeable temper, so he strove to present a calm front to others. Yet at that moment, if he’d been holding a gun, he’d have shot Nicholas Price right between his swiftly retreating shoulder blades.

  He tugged on his robe, patted his burning cheeks, then headed for the vicarage and the hot meal that awaited.

  Stephen dawdled in the cemetery, watching as Sunday services ended. He was eager to waylay Josephine so they could sneak away and talk.

  He thought she would agree to a rendezvous. She had to be as miserable as he was over their separation, and he was determined to convince her to reverse her course.

  Initially, when she’d broken off their affair, he hadn’t been bothered by her decision. While he enjoyed their physical attraction, he’d never been at a loss for sexual partners, particularly now with his brother’s prominence.

  Women chased after him, just as they chased after Nicholas, and he’d assumed he would select a bride from the crop of aristocratic girls as Nicholas had.