How to Seduce a Scoundrel

by Vicky Dreiling

  All these years she’d dreamed of this day, but those dreams had involved a declaration of love. He’d bedded her last night, but he’d never said he loved her.

  Foolishly, she’d thought he would never have made love to her if he didn’t love her. She loved him with all her heart, but she’d sworn never to marry a man who did not love her. Unrequited love was a miserable lot for a wife. She’d seen what it had done to her mother.

  But would Hawk have made the declaration under such circumstances? He’d felt awful about taking her to bed in that love nest. He wouldn’t want to propose to her in that sordid place.

  Last night, he’d promised her that everything would be different today. Hope leaped in her heart. He’d wanted to wait until today to declare his feelings.

  But what would she do if he didn’t?

  Betty finished and gave her the hand mirror. Julianne looked at her reflection. “Thank you, Betty. It’s perfect.”

  A tap at the door startled her. Hester walked inside and smiled. “He is here.”

  Julianne rose. “I’m so nervous.”

  Hester enfolded her in her arms. “So is he.”

  She looked up. “He is?”

  Hester nodded. “He’s pacing about and very anxious to see you. Let’s not keep him. I’ll walk with you to the drawing room and close the door afterward.”

  “Thank you.”

  Her legs felt like jelly as she descended the stairs with Hester. With every step, she prayed this momentous day would end happily.

  When they reached the open drawing room, she saw him stop and gaze at her. He’d worn a hunter green coat and for once his cravat was straight.

  Hester leaned down and whispered, “Meet him halfway.”

  She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The door closed behind her. She kept walking, and when he reached her, he took her hands.

  “I have something for you,” he said.

  She released his hands as he reached inside his coat and withdrew a jewelry box. Then he opened it. She caught her breath at the silver locket. She’d shown him the one her father had given her long ago before they’d left for the Beresford’s ball.

  She looked into his shining eyes and knew he meant to replace the other one as a sign of his love. He clasped the chain around her neck. “We’ll see about miniature portraits later.”

  She touched it. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  He took her hands again. “I thought about making solemn promises, but it occurred to me that every day is a promise. It’s not the promise that matters, but the doing does.”

  She nodded.

  He grinned. “However, in honor of our many mischievous adventures, I will promise to steal your bonnets and your kisses.”

  She laughed.

  “I swear to ply you with wine and bargain for your favors. But I will never let you drive my curricle. And I promise to interrupt your reading frequently because I’ll want all your attention.”

  She knew she would always remember his silly promises.

  “My adorable, sweet Julie-girl, be my sunshine and the brightest star in the night.”

  Her skin tingled at his romantic words. He kneeled before her. She held her breath, waiting for the three words that would complete her joy this day.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Her smile faded.

  His lips parted. “Julianne?”

  She knew then what she had to ask. “If last night had not happened, would you have proposed?”

  His hesitation spoke louder than any words. She released his hands.

  He stood and stared at her. “Julianne, it did happen, but I want us to go forward. I want to marry you.”

  She clutched her shaking hands.

  “I know I hurt you last night, but today can be our first step toward a life together,” he said. “I don’t blame you for being scared, but I swear I’ll make it up to you.”

  “It’s not enough,” she said.

  “I made you mine last night. I cannot walk away from that, and neither can you.”

  “I won’t enter into a marriage based on one night’s folly.”

  “You would consign me to hell? You would send me away, knowing for the rest of my life that I dishonored you?”

  “I won’t consign myself to a marriage based solely on an honor-bound obligation. Because that would be a living hell for both of us.”

  He shook his head. “You won’t even give me a chance to prove to you I can be a good husband.”

  Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to say yes so badly, but he didn’t love her. And if she married him, she would always know that he’d only married her out of obligation. “I’m sorry.”

  “You would marry another man after giving me your virginity?”

  She winced. “I cannot answer for the future. But I can answer for now. I won’t marry you just to assuage your guilty conscience.”

  “I won’t accept defeat,” he said. “When we arrive at Gatewick Park, I will go to your brother and ask his permission. And we will announce the engagement.”

  Tears streamed down her face. “Please don’t do this.”

  He fisted his hands. “I asked for honesty between us, and you’re making me pay because I won’t pretend that last night never happened. If this is about your doubts, then tell me what I can do.”

  She’d spent the first eight years of her life trying to win her father’s love. And the last four hoping Hawk would fall in love with her. She couldn’t spend a lifetime hoping that one day he would grow to love her.

  “I won’t let you do this,” he said. “When I take you home, I will announce our engagement.”

  When he strode out the door, she covered her mouth to stifle the sobs wracking her body.

  He halted his curricle, barely remembering driving home. Every inch of his body was as cold as ice. He’d been honest with her about his reason for proposing, but if he’d lied through his teeth, she would have accepted.

  He knew what it was. She was afraid he would betray her. She’d told him she didn’t want to end up like her mother, but she wouldn’t trust him. She wouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt.

  There was no way in hell he’d let her do this to him. He’d suffered one bad mistake, one he could never redeem, but this one he could.

  He walked past a hackney and strode up the stairs. She was probably paying him back for taking her to his damnable love nest. His aunt had advised him not to apologize, and he’d trusted that it was the right thing to do. But he would not let Julianne do this to him—or to her. She couldn’t marry another man, knowing she was dishonored.

  Damn it all to hell. She would make this as difficult as possible. After he put a wedding ring on her finger, he’d make sure she stayed out of trouble.

  When he reached his door, he pushed inside and slapped his hat onto the hall table. His manservant, Smith, met him. “My lord, there is a young man waiting in the parlor. He’s been here for over an hour.”

  Bloody hell. It was probably Osgood wanting advice. “Get rid of him.”

  “My lord, he came all the way from Eton in a mail coach and took a hackney here.”

  “Eton?” His nephews were too young for school. “It’s some sort of hoax. Send him on his way.”

  “Begging your pardon, my lord, but you might want to speak to him first.”

  “Why?” he said irritably.

  Smith hesitated.

  Hawk frowned. “Out with it, man.”

  Smith took a deep breath. “My lord, he’s the spitting image of you.”

  Chill bumps erupted all over his body. It wasn’t possible. “What is his name?”

  “Called himself Brandon, Lord Rothwell.”

  Hawk grasped the table with one hand. God Almighty. His son had found him.

  “My lord?” Smith said.

  “That will be all, Smith.”

  His heartbeat drummed in his ears as he walked toward the parlor. He paused at the open door. The boy sat on the sofa with
a leather-bound book on his lap. He wore the Eton uniform—a blue coat and fawn breeches. When Hawk walked inside, Brandon jumped to his feet and looked at him. A shock of recognition gripped Hawk at the sight of his own golden brown eyes, high cheekbones, and full mouth. The devil. The boy even had the same unruly dark brown hair.

  The room seemed to tilt for a moment. His son, the boy he’d never thought to see, stood before him. He inhaled, knowing he had to keep his wits for the boy’s sake. “Brandon?”

  The boy arched his brows, and Hawk nearly staggered. How could it be possible that the lad had the same mannerisms when they’d never met?

  “She said I looked like you.”

  His heart hammered in his chest. “Your mother?”

  “She died a year ago. Did you know?” His youthful voice held a challenge.

  “I heard. I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  The boy was angry, justifiably so. God, he felt as if the floor had dropped beneath him. “How did you find me?”

  He held up the book. “I found her journal.”

  Goddamn Cynthia for leaving behind evidence. Goddamn Westcott for not searching and destroying it. “My manservant said you traveled in the mail coach from Eton.”

  “Yes. I wanted to see you for myself.”

  He decided to deal with practical matters first, before tackling the difficult issues. “You must be hungry and thirsty.”

  “I can fend for myself.”

  He couldn’t let him go. “You came a long way. I suspect you’ve got questions. I’ll answer them. But there’s no need to do it on an empty stomach.”

  Brandon’s eyes flickered. “All right.”

  Hawk rang the bell. When Smith appeared, Hawk instructed him to set out an impromptu meal in the small dining parlor.

  “This way,” he said to the boy.

  As he walked to the dining parlor, an unreal sensation enveloped him. But he had to stay calm for the boy’s sake.

  When they were seated, Smith brought in bread and sliced roast beef, oranges, and a jug of milk. Hawk watched the boy wolf down the food and drink two glasses of milk. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, thinking of the twelve years he’d missed. But then he’d never thought to ever see his son.

  His son.

  He had so many questions. Did Westcott treat him well? That was the part that kept him awake at night, wondering if his son was mistreated. But he couldn’t ask directly—in truth, he had no right, for he’d given up all rights to his own flesh and blood more than a dozen years ago, before the boy was even born. And the day the letter had arrived, he’d wept as he read the news that Cynthia had delivered a healthy boy.

  His father had snatched the letter away and thrown it on the fire. Burned the only news he’d thought to ever have of his son.

  He’d known it was necessary to destroy the evidence, but at the time, he’d hated his father for his brutal words. Stop sniveling. You’re damned lucky to be alive.

  He’d been two months shy of his nineteenth birthday.

  He forced the past from his head, because he didn’t want the boy to see the torment on his face. “Do you want to talk here or in the parlor?”

  “Makes no difference to me,” Brandon said.

  Hawk folded his hands on the table. “Let’s start with a few practical matters. I take it your father doesn’t know you left school.”

  “He went up to Bath to take the waters for his health.”

  That news alarmed Hawk. Brandon stood to inherit a substantial property. To the best of Hawk’s knowledge, the elderly Westcott had no living relatives. There was nothing he could do about it. He had no legal rights, and worse, if he claimed Brandon as his son, the boy would lose his inheritance because he would be officially a bastard—scorned and mocked.

  For now, Hawk needed to concentrate on the immediate problems. “You’ll be reported missing,” he said. “If you wish to write your father, I’ll make sure the letter is delivered.”

  “I’ll go back to Eton tonight.”

  He wasn’t about to let the boy travel by himself again. “I’ll take you in my carriage tomorrow.”

  “I don’t need your charity,” he said.

  “You can have a clean seat all to yourself or you can be squashed between some smelly travelers who haven’t bathed in a fortnight. You’ll have a lot more stops along the way. I can make sure you get there faster.”

  “Maybe,” he said.

  “What do you want to know?” Hawk asked.

  His mouth worked. “How did you meet her?”

  He had no intention of telling the boy that his mother had lied to Westcott about her whereabouts to attend that raucous party. “Mutual friends introduced us.”

  “You knew she was married.”

  Hawk heard the accusation in the boy’s voice, but he did not deny it. “Yes. It was wrong.”

  Of course, he couldn’t tell the boy the truth, any more than he could tell Julianne. He could never tell her about the sordid events that still haunted him and about the woman who had made his life hell.

  Cynthia hadn’t been just a willing participant. She had been determined and had fawned all over him. Ramsey and his friends had thought it funny. Hawk had resisted her, because he’d known she was married.

  The next night, Ramsey and his friends decided Cynthia needed a young lover to make up for her middle-aged husband. They’d supposedly put every man’s name on slips of paper and drawn the lucky winner to warm Cynthia’s bed. He’d been so green he’d never suspected that his name had been on every single slip of paper. They had heckled him and made sport of him. He’d let them bully him into going to her bed. She’d welcomed him with open arms. The next day, he’d overheard Ramsey and his friends laughing in the billiard’s room over the great trick they’d played on him. But it was Cynthia’s laughter that had infuriated him. She’d known about the trick and thought it a great joke.

  Brandon glared at him. “She wrote you letters, and you never answered. You abandoned her after getting her with child.”

  The boy had clearly read that in her journal. Hawk chose his words with care. “She was married. I’d made a bad mistake and didn’t want to sin again.”

  He’d burned Cynthia’s letters. She’d wanted him to send letters to her friend, who would pass them on. The middle-aged Westcott grew suspicious when his supposedly barren wife of eight years was suddenly, inexplicably with child. After he’d intercepted one of Cynthia’s letters, he’d sent word to Hawk’s father demanding satisfaction.

  “You were too cowardly to stand up in a duel of honor,” Brandon said. “I was just your by-blow, rubbish.”

  He took a moment to compose his words. “I was eighteen years old and had a very strict father who made me do the right thing. The right thing was to pay your father for your support. I’d done a bad thing, but as my father told me, it would have been far worse to acknowledge you in any way. Because that would have put an ugly label on you, and that would have been unfair.”

  “Don’t act like you care. I know you don’t.”

  “I can see why you think that,” he said. “But I suspect you have a good relationship with your father.” He hoped to hell he was right.

  “He’s the best,” Brandon said. “He’s my real father.”

  Relief poured through him. “Yes, he is your father in every sense of the word.”

  The boy traced his finger over the condensation on the table left behind by the glass. “How would you like it if some man meddled with your mother and abandoned her?”

  “I wouldn’t like it at all.”

  “I read about you in the scandal sheets,” the boy said. “You’re an infamous rake.”

  Hawk ignored that statement, determined to keep the focus on the boy. “Do you play cricket at school?”

  “Yes, I’m the team captain.”

  “I thought you looked athletic,” he said. He’d been shooting in the dark, but he remembered how much he’d liked sp
orts as a boy.

  “I ought to be going. I need to get a room at the Claridge’s.”

  He’d no intention of letting the boy travel alone in London. “You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t mind the sofa. It might be difficult to get a room. London is a popular place.”

  “I suppose so,” he said grudgingly.

  He realized that after tomorrow he would never see his son again. There was so little time, but he’d make the most of what he had. “Do you play backgammon?”

  “Sometimes,” Brandon said.

  “Since you’re stuck here for the night, we could play for a while. If you like.”

  “Might as well,” he said.

  Hawk smiled a little, wondering if the boy always spoke sparingly or if it was just the situation. He set up the game and asked innocent questions as they played. By the end of the night, he’d learned a great deal about the boy. He had two spotted springers at home and liked archery and fishing. He had two best mates at Eton who had visited him the previous summer. They toasted cheese over the fire at school. Hawk had confessed he used to do the same.

  After several rounds of backgammon, three of which he’d let Brandon win, he persuaded his son to sit on the carpet with him, while they toasted cheese and drank chocolate. He remembered one Christmas when he and Tristan had toasted cheese at Gatewick Park. Julianne had wanted to join them. Tristan had balked, but Hawk had let her sit with him and help toast cheese. The bittersweet memory tugged at him. He feared he’d lost her.

  When Brandon yawned for the third time, Hawk brought him a pillow and a blanket. He’d wanted to tuck him in, but a twelve-year-old boy wouldn’t appreciate it, and in this case, the boy had plenty of reason to resent him.

  Hawk put the game away, and when he came back into the parlor, the boy was sound asleep. He padded over to him and dared to brush the unruly lock of hair from his forehead. It was the first time he had ever touched his son.

  At dawn, Hawk got the grumbling boy to awaken and persuaded him to eat a bit of gruel. He left a missive to be delivered to his aunt informing her he had to leave the city unexpectedly and that he would call when he returned.