Confessions of a Scoundrel

by Karen Hawkins

  “If that’s all you want, then take your bloody kiss and be gone.” Her nose curled in a way that looked more like she’d tasted something sour than a woman about to be thoroughly seduced.

  Brandon decided that it was a good thing that somewhere along the way, he’d made the decision that a kiss wasn’t enough. The kiss itself was merely the opening shot in the battle to come. For that was what a kiss was—a weapon. A stealthily employed weapon that could, when yielded in the right circumstances, produce effects not unlike an explosion.

  Brandon’s body tightened at the thought of that explosion, of Verena’s lips beneath his, of her body against his own. “You’re right. I should just take my kiss and be gone.”

  She folded her hands in her lap, pursed her lips, and closed her eyes.

  Brand almost choked on a laugh. “What’s that?”

  She opened one eye. “A kiss.” The words were muffled since she didn’t unpucker.

  He chuckled then. “Stop that. I’m not even sure…” He looked about the room and shook his head. “No, not here.”

  She opened both eyes, the pucker disappearing. “What do you mean ‘not here’?”

  “It’s too bright.”

  “Bright? What difference does that make?”

  He waved a hand. “I want the mood to be right. The ambiance of a romantic moment is a delicate thing.”

  “Romantic? Who said our kiss had to be romantic?”

  He cocked a brow at her. “I believe the conditions of the kiss were ‘when and where’ I required it.”

  She frowned and he could see that she was trying to recall the wording of their wager. “I think…perhaps we—”

  “You may ask Jameson the next time you see him. Meanwhile, I require my kiss now and I want it…” He eyed her for a moment. “I want it in your bedchamber.”

  She shot out of her chair like cannonfire, almost stumbling as she did so. “What?”

  “You heard me. I want the kiss in your bedchamber.”

  “You are not going to my bedchamber.”

  “Reneging on your bet, aren’t you? Why am I not surprised?”

  “I am not reneging. You are taking unfair advantage of me.”

  “No one forced you to accept that wager. Do you refuse to honor it?” He shrugged. “Of course, if you don’t wish to do as you promised, I’m certain Lady Farley, the proprietress of that gaming hell you so love to frequent, would be glad to know of your tendency to back out of your obligations.”

  Verena’s jaw tightened. She plopped her hands on her hips and jutted out her chin. “No. I will not have you brandishing it about that I refused to honor my word, but…”

  Brandon could see the struggle behind her serious gaze. If she was indeed making her living from the cards, she could not afford to have her name besmirched in such a way as to ruin her credit at the gaming hells. She knew that his word, as a St. John, would have a very powerful effect.

  She sighed, annoyance in every line of her body. “Very well, St. John. Have it your way. However, you will not tell a soul that I allowed you in my bedchamber. If I agree to this, it has to remain between us.”

  He set his glass on a table and stood. “I am a gentleman.”

  She made a very unladylike snort, one that made him grin. “Follow me, St. John. And you are not to repeat one single word of this to anyone.” She went to the door and yanked it open.

  Herberts fell forward and landed face first on the rug.

  Verena glared. “Herberts! No eavesdropping!”

  The butler struggled to his feet. “Me? Listenin’ in? No, m’lady. Oiye, ah, was just washin’ the door.”

  “With your ear? How odd. Now step aside.”

  Herberts crossed his arms over his chest. “Ye aren’t really goin’ to take that blighter to yer chambers, are ye?”

  “I made a wager.”

  “And oiye’ll make a wisty caster o’ his face, see if oiye don’t. Oiye can’t stand aside and jus’ let ye ruin yerself. Oiye’ve principles, oiye do.”

  Brandon doubted that, but he wisely didn’t say a thing.

  “Herberts, you are not to get involved in my affairs.” Verena went out the door to the hallway, both men following her. The butler rushed to get in front of her, stopping her on the bottom step.

  “For the love of—” she began, exasperation heavy in her voice. “Am I to be plagued with stubborn men all evening? I made a wager, Herberts.”

  “Oiye heard already. Oiye just wish ye’d made a better one.”

  Verena sighed. “Me, too. However…” She lifted her head, her eyes alight. “Ah!”

  Brandon frowned. “What?”

  “I just thought of something.” She pinned him with a triumphant gaze. “No one said that the kiss had to be made in private. If I want, I may have a chaperone with me.”

  Brand scowled. “I don’t recall anything about allowing you to have a chaperone—”

  “Nor will you recall saying that I could not have one, either. Therefore, I may have one if I wish. Herberts, you may serve as chaperone.”

  The rustle of silk whisked past Brand and up the stairs, Verena’s blond hair passing just below his nose. “Are you coming, Mr. St. John? I haven’t all night.”

  He watched her climb the stairs, certain that every saucy twitch and sway was purposefully done to taunt him.

  Herberts stood beside him, watching as well. After a moment, the butler sighed. “Oiye hopes ye aren’t mad, guv’nor. Didn’t mean to interfere. It’s not that oiye thinks ye aren’t a good man, ye didn’t lay a finger on her all evenin’ and ye was alone with her fer some time. Thet says a lot, it do.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And oiye don’t blame ye one bit fer wantin’ yer kiss. It’s just that the missus…she done good by me and oiye ain’t a bloke as what’ll ferget it. So come along now. Ye’d best get yer kiss quick-like afore she asks Cook and Peters to watch, as well.”

  Brandon had the distinct impression that the butler would have slung an arm about his shoulder if he’d thought for one moment that the gesture would be welcomed.

  Brand sighed and put his foot on the bottom step. Suddenly, he stopped. “Herberts, do you like my watch?”

  The butler raised his hands. “Oiye didn’t take yer ticker, oiye didn’t!”

  “I know that. It’s right here.” Brand reached into his pocket and pulled out his new watch. “How would you like to have it?”

  The butler blinked. “Whot’s this?”

  “I’ll give it to you. Right now.”

  Herberts’s gaze fastened on the watch, a strange hunger gleaming in his eyes. “What’ll oiye haf to do?”

  “Just take your time climbing those stairs.”

  Herberts looked at the watch, then back at the stairs. “How much time? Oiye don’t want the missus mad at me. She can cast a powerful evil eye when she’s o’ the mind.”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Five—oh no, guv’nor. Oiye know what can happen in five minutes.”

  “Two minutes, then. I just want the kiss to be…memorable.” Brandon could see that the man was wavering. “I’ll give you my word as a gentleman that I won’t do anything to cause her to protest.”

  Brandon took the watch and held it up to eye level, the silver case flashing in the light. “What do you say?”

  The butler swallowed, his gaze glued to the swinging watch. “Oiye shouldn’t.”

  “Herberts, I promise I will not hurt her. I’m here because I merely want the kiss that is due me.”

  Herberts looked Brand right in the eye, studying him for all he was worth. Whatever he saw there seemed to satisfy him, for he gave a brief nod and said, “It is a long stairwell.”

  “Yes.”

  “And oiye do haf a bad knee.”

  Brand dropped the watch into the butler’s outstretched hand. It disappeared much as his coin had earlier.

  “Two minutes and not a bloomin’ second more,” Herberts said.

  Brandon didn�
��t wait. He bounded up the stairs, wincing as he landed on his bruised foot. He reached the landing in record time, but found himself faced with an impossibly long row of doors. Damn it! Which one—

  “Are you coming?” Verena stood in the last door on the left.

  Brand closed the distance between them.

  Verena leaned to one side and looked past him. Surely Herberts was close behind. “Where’s Herbe—”

  Strong, warm hands closed about her arms and before she could say a word, she was whisked into the room. Brandon closed the door, turned the key in the lock, then leaned against it, his arms folded across his broad chest.

  Verena found it difficult to swallow. He was still wet from the rain, his shirt glued to him, outlining every muscle. “Wh-where’s my butler?”

  “Coming up the steps as we speak. We haven’t much time.” He shoved himself from the door and strode forward. “I want my kiss.”

  “Wait until Herberts—”

  “Do you really want one of your servants to see this?”

  “I don’t want anyone to see,” she said hotly. “Not even me. In fact, I don’t want to be kissed at all.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have wagered.”

  “I didn’t want to, but you challenged me and that is just as bad.”

  He caught her arms and pulled her forward. “No more talking.”

  “But I have a lot more to say—”

  He buried his face in her neck, his lips trailing a heated path to her left ear, sending shivers of delight up her spine. “You have more to say now?” he murmured against her skin. “After all our delightful double talk? I fear my brain would explode with the strain.”

  She tried to control the wash of hot lust that threatened to consume her. “If you think your brain in danger of exploding, then please let me know so that I may ring for a rag to stuff in your ears. I cannot have what little brain you possess leaking on my new rug.”

  He lifted his head and looked down at her, his hands splayed on her waist. “You’re a hard-hearted woman, did you know that?”

  She returned his look with a frank one of her own, an unbidden smile lifting the corners of her lips. Brandon’s breath caught in his chest. In the glow of the lamp downstairs, she had appeared perfect—her golden hair curled about her face, flawless skin, straight nose—but here, in his arms, he could plainly see the faint scattering of pale freckles on the bridge of her nose. Better yet, he could see that her lower row of teeth were slightly uneven. For some reason, those slight imperfections made her all the more attractive.

  “Ow!” Herberts said from the top of the stairway, his voice theatrically loud. “Oiye stubbed me toe.”

  Brand was out of time. “My kiss.” He lowered his mouth and took what belonged to him. This was what he’d wanted since the first moment he’d seen her, when she’d turned and smiled at him—to have her here, inside his arms, her body against his. His lips covered hers, his tongue stroking hers. She opened for him, moaning softly, the sound a torment in itself.

  Heat exploded through him, sizzling, searing, imprinting the taste of her on him forever. Never had he felt this for any woman.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  Verena ignored it, pulling Brandon closer, her hands twined in the loose folds of his shirt. He kissed with a fervor that matched her own, his hands moving possessively over her, cupping her body, holding her against his hardness. The wetness of his shirt soaked through her dress, sending shivers of delight across her skin.

  “M’lady?” Herberts’s voice echoed his alarm. He knocked on the door. “Are ye well?”

  Was she well? She was on fire, her body quivering with heat, with passion. She wanted Brandon St. John in her bed. She wanted to feel him inside her, filling her, as she knew he would. It had been so long since anyone had touched her. So long since she’d allowed a man close enough for even this, a simple kiss.

  But not a simple kiss, she realized, reluctantly pulling away. Though her entire body ached with need, she knew she had to stop it. “I-I think you’ve gotten your kiss.”

  His lips traced a line across her cheek, to her neck. “Did I?” he murmured, his voice vibrating against her.

  She closed her eyes, her arms still about his neck. “Yes.”

  “M’lady?” The door shook as if someone was trying to pull it open. “Can ye hear me?”

  “Answer him,” Brandon said, his delightful mouth now near her ear. “Tell him to go away.”

  She should tell Brandon to go away, not Herberts, her logical brain told her. But her treacherous body disagreed. Heaven was so close, within a fingertip’s touch away. Still, she couldn’t—She pushed him away. “No.”

  “No?”

  “Not…I can’t. I don’t know you or why you came here or what you want or—”

  He placed a finger over her lips. “I have questions for you, too. Are you brave enough to answer them?”

  She jutted out her chin. “Are you brave enough to ask?”

  Brandon’s mouth curved into a smile, his eyes warm with laughter. “Tell Herberts to leave. You and I can settle this ourselves.”

  He was right. They could settle this themselves. “Herberts?”

  The rattling at the door stopped. “Aye?”

  “Mr. St. John isn’t here.”

  There was a long pause. “Where’d he go then?”

  “I don’t know. But he never came in here. Perhaps he left while you were locking the front door.”

  Again a long pause. “Perhaps he did, missus. Oiye suppose he could have slipped down the stairs.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Or out the chimney,” Herberts continued in a sarcastic voice.

  “Herberts?”

  “Aye?”

  “Good night.”

  There was a loud sigh. “Very well, missus. Good night, missus. Good night, Mr. St. John.” And then Herberts left, his boots trudging loudly down the stairs, a complaint in each step.

  Chapter 13

  If you believe Lady Caro Lamb’s novel, GLENARVON, the entire world revolves around rapturous joys, passionate embraces, and unrequited loves. I, for one, would rather the world embraced more common concerns such as the cost of a good pair of half boots and the quality of the new bonnets being shipped from France.

  Mrs. Mitford, to her maid, Lucy, while allowing that long-suffering individual to fix her coiffure

  Brandon looked down into Verena’s eyes. “Herberts is gone. That leaves you and me.” “So it does.” She stepped out of his arms and attempted to straighten her gown. She pulled at the skirts, tugging them back into place, but there was no helping it—the entire front was soaked from where he’d held her, the material clinging to her awkwardly.

  The sight was even more disturbing for Brand. He could see through her dress, easily making out the outline of her chemise, the thin ribbon that tied in the center of her cleavage, the full roundness of each breast. He’d thought he couldn’t possibly get more aroused than he had been.

  He was wrong.

  She sighed her exasperation, then abandoned her attempts to straighten her gown. Verena clasped her hands together in front of her, her cheeks pink. “I suppose in sending Herberts away, I have made a decision of sorts.”

  “Decision?” Brandon said somewhat dazedly. “What decision?”

  “I thought you could stay here…with me.” When he looked at her in amazement, she colored and added in a hasty voice, “Not forever, or anything like that. I just thought we might be together without—Not that I don’t want to, but we shouldn’t think too much about—” She pressed her hands to her hot cheeks. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

  He almost choked. She was saying exactly what he’d said in one way or another to every woman he’d ever seduced. “Verena, perhaps it would be better if we just think of this as…” Good God, this was difficult. He raked a hand through his hair, then winced when a flurry of water dripped down his neck. “I don’t think we need to qualify anything.”
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br />   Her brows lowered, the flyaway corners giving her a delicate fairy look. “I suppose you are right. It’s not that important.”

  Normally, Brandon would have found such a qualification reassuring—even though he was usually the one making minute differentiations on terminology and not his partner. But her protestations were having an odd effect on him. They weren’t lessening his desire one jot. By God, he would regain some control of this seduction if it killed him.

  The fact that Verena was taking such pains to place him at a distance, even as she admitted she wanted more physical contact, made him all the more determined to gain concessions from her—to prove that he was indeed in charge. That she wanted him in more than just her bed. “Verena, this…attraction. It’s been there from the first day we met. There’s nothing wrong with our acting on it.”

  “If I thought there was anything wrong, I would never have suggested it. I was only pointing out that physical…” her face flushed before she continued, “…consummation does not necessarily mean that we will change our behavior toward one another. We are adults. We’ve both been about the world some. And there’s no reason we should expect more.”

  Bloody hell, but she was adorable. He wanted her. Wanted her now. Beneath him. Held without mercy so that he could prove to her how wrong her cool, logical ideas were. Their mating would be fiercely passionate, deeply sensual, and rich with feeling. This was no causal meeting of two equals. It was much, much more. He could feel it, taste it.

  He knew it the same way he knew that though she tried to appear unaffected, her body tingled with yearning for his touch. “I disagree, sweet. I think by morning you’ll find that we’ve far more of a relationship than you realize.”

  The words hung hazily between them. Brandon wondered if perhaps he’d gone mad—surely he wasn’t the one who’d just suggested that his liaison with this lush woman was something more.

  But he had said it. Aloud, too, which was even more shocking. Damn it, what am I thinking?

  That was the problem—he wasn’t thinking at all. She was who she was. An adventurer. A card turner. She was not the type of woman with whom one bothered to develop a lasting relationship. Perhaps he was merely reacting to the fact that she was attempting to diminish their affair.