Seductive Scoundrels Series Books 4-6: A Regency Romance

by Collette Cameron

  She still hadn’t informed her grandparents of Pennington’s devious plan. She couldn’t fathom a legal way he could regain the estate, and therefore, rather than cause the elderly pair an upset, she kept the knowledge to herself.

  When the need arose—pray God it never would—she’d tell all. But until that time, the tall debonair duke with his shock of midnight hair and unusual eyes beneath slashing brows the same hue as his hair, wasted his time directing his attention toward her. She, alone, must protect her family from that craven’s cunning and scheming.

  In fact, she’d taken to carrying a small dagger in her boot or reticle. Just in case…Well, she didn’t know exactly what. But far better to be prepared than caught unawares. She also knew how to wield a fan, a hat pin, and even a parasol as an improvised weapon should the need arise. Nicolette firmly believed every woman should be able to defend herself, and Gabriella agreed wholeheartedly.

  Her ability to fend off an attacker was another reason she’d been comfortable sending Jackson for assistance. Besides, rarely did anyone travel this isolated length of road. Only Hartfordshire Court, Pennington’s palatial country seat, and a seldom used shortcut connecting the main route to London lay this far along the remote track.

  Flopping back against the pale blue velvet squabs, she folded her arms and wrinkled her nose.

  How could she ever have thought the Duke of Pennington amusing or charming? Enthralling. Fascinating. Wholly extraordinary. His black-lashed eyes were quite extraordinary. Never before had she seen anyone with two different colored eyes. They enhanced the air of mystery surrounding him. As if he were privy to a secret no one else knew. She’d seen it in the way he observed her through his heavy-lidded, smoldering eyes.

  A little rush of exhilaration tingled in her blood.

  Heavy-lidded? Smoldering? My God.

  What in the world had come over her? Surely it must be hunger or the knock to her head. Either or perhaps both had made her dizzy and fanciful.

  What a good thing she discovered his true colors before she’d permitted her schoolgirl tendre to foolishly become something more. Now, however, she knew better than to trust his cheerful demeanor and too-alluring-for-her-good smile. All of his attention and murmured compliments had all been a calculated ruse to get near her and use her as a means to rob her grandparents of their home. Oh, how she longed to plant him a facer or challenge him to pistols or swords.

  She wasn’t such a refined lady that either choice wasn’t an option.

  Her grandparents would be horrified to know, but she and Ophelia had learned fencing, how to shoot pistols, and even how to deliver a precisely-aimed blow with their fists. All thanks to their many visits and overnight stays with her dear friend, Nicolette.

  Gabriella tapped her chin with her forefinger. Mayhap she should ask Nicolette how to discourage a gentleman’s attention. After being jilted a mere day before her wedding, her friend had perfected snubbing men to a fine art. To the point of cruelty at times. Nicolette also possessed an assortment of naughty romance novels, which she freely shared with her friends.

  Or perchance, Gabriella should enlist her cousin Everleigh or their mutual friend Theadosia for help. The duchesses could discretely question their husbands about what types of things were certain to put Pennington off the chase.

  What surely must be a crafty smile tipped her mouth.

  Why, yes. Why hadn’t she considered that sooner?

  Shifting uncomfortably, she eyed the wispy ferns and underbrush crowding the tree trunks. Nature called with ever-increasing urgency.

  Finally, when another impatient glare to her timepiece revealed ten more minutes had inched past, she could wait no longer. With some difficulty, and only by pressing her shoulder forcefully into the stubborn panel, she managed to shove the door open then hopped to the ground. In the looming twilight, a magnificent stag stood near the river. Ebony eyes wary and ears twitching, he observed her, the tips of his mighty antlers obscured in the gloaming light.

  If only she had her pencils and sketch pad, she might’ve drawn him, and she’d have had something to pass the time as well. She must remember to bring them next time, for one never knew when an opportunity might arise that she’d want to record on paper. Apparently deciding she posed him no threat, the stag lowered his head to the shimmering water.

  The horses, a striking matched pair of grays right down to their black manes and tails, flicked those impressive tails and shifted their feet. No doubt they longed for their warm stalls and a bucket of oats to happily munch upon.

  She yearned for a hot bath liberally sprinkled with jasmine, lavender, and lemongrass-scented oil—her own creation since perfume was an expense Grandpapa disallowed. A bowl of Mrs. McCandish’s sumptuous cock-a-leekie soup, and an equally hot toddy, generously laced with whisky wouldn’t go amiss either.

  “Brrr.”

  Shivering, Gabriella rubbed the dark green velvet covering her arms again as she carefully studied the narrow, rutted track first in one direction then the other. When she’d left the house this afternoon, the temperature had been quite warm for March. Since she traveled directly to Colechester and back, she hadn’t believed a cloak necessary.

  Neither was there a lap robe in the drafty coach. Grandpapa claimed the moths and vermin would feast upon it. One didn’t argue with him or point out that the robe might be stored inside the house until needed.

  Always the more practical sister, Ophelia’s advice from earlier today rang in Gabriella’s ears. “Gabby, you really ought to at least take a shawl or mantle. You know how quickly the weather can turn ugly this time of year. We don’t need you falling ill as well.”

  In her typical impetuous way, Gabriella had ignored her sister’s warning, more fool she. Especially, if night fell before, she was rescued. It surely appeared as if it would.

  That miserable thought coiled in her empty belly. It was one thing to think oneself daring and independent in daylight and another thing entirely when darkness blacker than a moonless night descended upon the countryside… This oh, so very isolated particular spot of countryside to be precise.

  Despite her impulsive inclinations, she’d never pretended to be an audacious, adventurous sort. With each passing minute, real concern for Jackson grew. As did the unpleasant realization that she very well may have to spend the night huddled in the coach or trod home in the dark.

  Alone.

  With wild, hungry creatures meandering about.

  Each alternative held as much appeal as kissing Pennington. Kissing Pennington? Good heavens, where did that odious thought come from? Is it truly odious?

  Yes, she very sternly chided her romping imagination. Of course it is. Everything to do with him was disagreeable, the charlatan. Pretending to be her friend and paying her marked attention all the while plotting to steal her home.

  She’d sooner pull every hair from her head than touch her mouth to his.

  Liar, chided an annoying voice in her mind. Thoroughly vexed, she admonished the voice to shut up.

  After giving each gelding a pet on his withers, she adjusted her askew bonnet more firmly upon her head. She retied the ribbons beneath what she considered a too-strong jaw for a female. Grandmama, a twinkle in her eyes, declared it was no such thing. It was merely Gabriella’s tendency to jut her chin out in obstinacy that made her jawline appear prominent.

  Considering her grandmother’s penchant for doing the exact same thing, Gabriella was hard put to argue against her jesting.

  Hands on her hips, a frown turning the corners of her mouth downward, she weighed her options. Stay here or walk home? Could she even manage the unharnessing of the hobbled team and to lead them to Hartfordshire? If so, surely she’d meet Jackson on his return.

  Nevertheless, indecision beleaguered her.

  She’d attend to her personal needs then decide what to do.

  Gingerly picking her way through the sparse underbrush, she at last found a well-concealed spot several yards from the r
oad that promised more privacy. Yes, this would do nicely. Just to be on the safe side, she withdrew her dagger. One never knew what other creatures might seek a drink from the river this evening.

  A short while later, having restored her knife to her boot and just as she lifted her skirts to step over a broad branch, far-off hoofbeats echoed. A relieved smile bent her mouth. Thank the Divine powers. She’d be home in time for dinner, after all, and a good long soak would take the chill from her bones.

  And a toddy. Don’t forget the toddy. Abundantly dosed with whisky.

  Another luxury the Breckensoles rarely indulged in, but one enjoyed by the entire family on occasion.

  A horseman called to the other, and upon hearing his rough Cockney-accented voice, she paused, one foot raised and head canted. These weren’t riders from Hartfordshire Court. Wisdom decreed she remain concealed until she learned exactly who they were. Hopefully, the smooth snake that had slithered across her path a few moments ago hadn’t lingered.

  With stealth and care, Gabriella retreated into the woods until the undergrowth grew denser once more. She crouched behind an ancient oak, her heart banging so fiercely against her breastbone, she feared the men would hear the loud staccato. Settling onto her knees, she flinched as the bruised flesh from being hurled onto the carriage floor objected. Making herself as small and inconspicuous as possible, she silently praised God that her green ensemble camouflaged her to a degree.

  Breath held and squinting slightly, she peeked around the trunk, scrutinizing the travelers.

  Upon spying the crippled coach, the two rough-looking men cantered to a stop. The portly older fellow slouched in his saddle, whilst a younger, thinner version of him considered the vehicle, a sly grin blooming across his grimy, unshaven face.

  The hairs on her arms raised straight up from wrist to shoulder, and she clapped a gloved hand over her mouth to keep from making any noise. Oh, God. Had they arrived a few minutes later, she would’ve already returned to the carriage. From their filthy, scruffy appearances, she’d be bound they weren’t honorable sorts. Vagabonds, most likely.

  “Well, well. Wot ’ave we ’ere, Wills?” Resting an elbow on his thick thigh, the older man leaned forward.

  The younger chap chuckled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. “An opportunity, Da.”

  As the men slid from their saddles, Gabriella shrank further to the root-ridden ground and closer to the trunk, scarcely daring to breathe. Fear’s vice-like grip squeezed her lungs and cramped her burning throat.

  Hitching up his baggy trousers, Wills opened the carriage door. He dangled one of Gabriella’s packages in the doorway. “Looky ’ere.”

  Grandmama’s medicine.

  In short order, they tore her parcels open, tossing the chemises and Grandmama’s remedies into the middle of the road. If that weren’t awful enough, Wills stomped on the delicate undergarments before grinding the medicine bottles beneath his heel. The crunch of glass breaking sent a shudder through Gabriella and anger welling behind her ribs. Damned rotter. At least try to sell the items rather than destroy them.

  He tipped the few coins remaining in her reticule into his grimy palm. The dainty bag, crocheted by Grandmama for Gabriella last Christmastide, met the same fate as the chemises. He crowed anew at discovering the pouch of tobacco and promptly stuffed it inside his coat.

  The father held up the blue velvet cloak intended for Ophelia. “Wouldn’t Miss Minnie like to prance ’round in dis?” He gave his son a lewd wink and minced around, swinging his large bum and the garment back and forth. “I’m bettin’ she’d show ’er appreciation fer somfin’ dis fancy.” He grabbed his groin, imitating a vulgar movement.

  “Do ye s’ppose she let me ’ave one of ’er fancier whores?” Wills bobbed his head and licked his lips. “One o’ ’em gels tha’ smell an’ dresses pretty? And ’av nice teeth an’ skin?”

  “Not unless they’ve taken t’ swivin’ wif swine.” His father hooted as he draped the cloak over his saddle. “Ye smell like a pig, son, an’ rut like one too.”

  Sweat trickled a sticky path down her spine, and Gabriella swallowed against the burning nausea throttling up her throat. It was a good thing she hadn’t eaten a midday meal, for it might very well have made a violent, noisy reappearance.

  The frightened team neighed and pranced nervously, but Wills grabbed their harnesses, and cut the grays free.

  They meant to steal Admiral and General. God curse them. Fiends. Devil’s spawns.

  Gabriella’s stomach churned anew, and hot tears leaked from her eyes. Grandpapa had only purchased the pair last year, after waiting a lifetime to splurge on one of the few things he had ever wanted.

  With gloating sneers curling their mouths, they mounted their horses and galloped away.

  Wills’s voice carried back to her. “I ’opes we come ’pon t’ wench an’ she’s young. I ’aven’t ’ad a good …”

  Gabriella remained squatted in place for several long blinks. Her breathing ragged and uneven, she sluggishly stood upright using the coarse trunk to steady herself. If she hadn’t sought privacy in the shrubberies, hadn’t needed to relieve herself, she’d have been inside the carriage.

  Wills would’ve…

  Oh, God.

  Another flash of icy-cold terror rippled over her.

  No help for it now, she’d have to walk home and pray no more strangers ventured down the remote lane. Or that those two blackguards returned this way. She’d nearly reached the road when the unmistakable sound of another rider approaching met her ears.

  Those hoofbeats also came from the direction of Colechester.

  It had been months since she encountered another person on this isolated road, and today within minutes, she’d done so twice? Well, she hadn’t actually encountered them because she concealed herself in the woods, but that was beside the point.

  Retreating into the deepening shadows once more, she awaited the horseman’s approach with bated breath. Friend or foe? A means of sending word to home or another villain to avoid?

  As had the other riders, the man—a gentleman from his expensively tailored attire—slowed his horse, and a low whistle preceded his, “Holy hell.” Another muffled half-curse, half surprised exclamation escaped him as he stood in his stirrups surveying the conveyance. “What the blazes?”

  Gabriella slid her eyelids shut and gave a short shake of her head. No. No. It cannot be. Please, don’t let it be. Anyone…anyone, dear God…but him.

  The Duke of Pennington was good and truly the last person she wanted to see right at this moment. Covered in dirt and leaves, tears dried upon her cheeks, and frightened half out of her mind she didn’t have the strength to match wits with him. Not now. Not when her reserves were spent.

  She raked her disbelieving gaze over his polished Hessians to track up his biscuit-colored buckskins stretched over muscled calves and thighs. He sat regal and self-confident. A man sure of himself and his position. She ventured higher still, past his buff-toned coat and brown leather-gloved hands gripping the reins, to his familiar granite jaw, the slashing blade of his nose, and his mismatched green and blue eyes beneath severe midnight eyebrows.

  Blast, astride his mount he presented a fine figure of a man, her artist’s discernment reluctantly conceded. How difficult would it be to capture the two distinct shades of his eyes on paper?

  Just then, she swore he looked straight at her, directly through the greenery and the dusky twilight. Right into her eyes, as if he knew exactly where she stood, frozen in disbelief. A disconcerting jolt zipped to her stomach.

  Dash it to ribbons.

  Dash it to ribbons?

  No, that didn’t begin to describe her frustration. She blew a puff of air out her nose in a silent snort. Why did he of all people have to come along? After she’d pointedly told him to leave her alone.

  The duke scrutinized the coach, then slowly, methodically inspected the surrounding area before his gaze came to rest on her hiding place once m
ore.

  He knows. He knew she hid here.

  How?

  That slow, lazy smile that so annoyed her she yearned to slap it from his handsome face, hitched his well-formed mouth skyward at the corners. He sank back into his saddle, casually looping his reins around one hand.

  “Miss Breckensole, it’s safe to come out now.”

  “Merde.” Maxwell swore beneath his breath, examining the disabled coach once more. What the hell happened here? Obviously, the axel had snapped and the back wheel shattered, but why were these belongings strewn about? Another systematic sweep down the length of the road confirmed neither the coachman nor the team were anywhere to be seen.

  Yet Gabriella was.

  Had she opted to stay behind rather than ride one of the horses bareback to Hartsfordshire Court? Her driver ought to be sacked for leaving her here. What could the man have been thinking? No doubt, she had something to do with his absence, stubborn chit.

  From beneath his eyelashes, he sliced a covert glance to the shadowy woods. Just there, hovering half-concealed by that large tree, she still refused to come out of the forest. If she’d witnessed this destruction—and she most probably had—terror undoubtedly rendered her immobile.

  If it hadn’t been for her faint, involuntary gasp when he’d first reined Balor to a stop, he’d not have spied her either. All too familiar frustration and ire stiffened Max’s shoulder muscles when he thought of Breckensole residing in the home that had once been in his paternal grandmother’s family.

  Not now. Soon, but not now.

  Despite the sobriety of the moment, his lips twitched upward. She’d been outraged that he’d dared to ask her to go riding. He’d truly wanted her to accompany him on an outing, because despite everything, he liked her. Liked her very much, indeed. For months now, she’d fascinated him. Even before he’d learned of her grandfather’s perfidy.

  He could almost visualize the proper, but unpredictable, Gabriella Breckensole astride a horse in that green and black confection she’d been wearing in Colechester this afternoon. The image of her shapely legs exposed from ankle to thigh, hugging the horse’s sides, created an unexpected but powerful sensual reaction. A response he’d have contemplated further if it weren’t so bloody cold and darkness was quickly descending. Not that he was feeling particularly chilled. No, in fact inferior brandy yet warmed his gut.