Tempting the Scoundrel: Steamy Regency Romance (House of Devon Book 3)

by Tracy Sumner

  “I tried, can’t you see? Romance. It didn’t work.”

  “Perhaps the traditional approach would be better. In London better. Rides through Hyde Park, strolls along Bond Street, two scandalous waltzes in one night, done. Marriage to someone who means something but not everything. Everything is not required, Kit.”

  “It is for me.” Christian elbowed to a wobbly sit. A gust of wind whipped in from the east, sending his hair into his eyes. A storm was brewing. He rubbed his aching chest; his argument with Raine had taken a piece of him and shattered it like china against marble. He didn’t feel whole at the moment.

  Penny sat next to Christian, stretching his legs out across the wrinkled blanket. “I feared this.”

  “Wonderful, add prophecy to your list of talents. Have your flask handy?”

  Penny grimaced and yanked the dented tin from his coat pocket, thrust it toward Christian. The etched metal caught a streak of moonlight and sent it shooting across their Hessians.

  Christian took a long pull, the Scotch adding weight to the wine he’d consumed in a way he knew would distress him come morning. “She’s not going for it,” he said with a sinking heart. Even with that scorching kiss standing between them, she hadn’t considered it. Or him.

  Penny’s blistering gaze swept him, the judgmental cur. “Did you mention marriage?”

  “I did,” Christian said with another drink, “and she’s out.”

  “Maybe we rehearse, and you can try again. You’re not the best with these things. Remember what you said to Lady Leadbetter about her gown? She stills get pink in the face when we see her.”

  “I thought she’d accidentally dressed for a costume ball, I honestly did!” He coughed and shoved the flask in Penny’s direction. “Did you see that silk catastrophe? I was trying to save her from embarrassment. ‘Go home and change before anyone sees you’ type of thing. You dressed for the wrong event.”

  “What I’m hearing is that you applied your standard finesse to the proposal tonight.”

  “It wasn’t poetic if that’s what you’re asking.”

  Penny took a drink and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Ah, I’ve read this play before. You bumble, then Miss Mowbray says something you don’t want to hear, and boom, a sulking, insolent man appears, stage left.”

  Christian stacked one boot atop the other and hung his head back, his gaze going to a sky that looked like it was going to unleash havoc at any moment. “A congenial groom got to her first. Someone by the name of Dash or something. Certainly the more appropriate choice. Another maid told her about that knighthood offer from cracked George, so she believes we’re leagues apart. If she only knew what it was like growing up with a wastrel for a father, a revered vicar the entire household was terrified of. My upbringing was less than noble. Likely less noble than hers in many respects.”

  “So she declined because of societal disparity and this illustrious groom…”

  “Then I got angry, and that sulking, insolent bloke you mentioned joined the party. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Your temper is truly your downfall.” Penny polished the flask on his sleeve and slipped it in his pocket. “We’re lost if we can’t upstage a humble groom, however.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” He groaned, digging his heel in the soil. His cheeks had gotten hot, always a bad sign. “Remember that girl I fancied? The one at Tavistock House?”

  Penny whistled beneath his breath, tilted his head in meditation. “The paragon on the veranda. Yes, I remember, because you bring her up every time we’re deep in our cups. She’s mysteriously ruined every relationship you’ve tried to sustain, if I may be so bold as to judge. Let me guess, she’s in your head along with your lovely bluestocking and you don’t know—”

  “She is my lovely bluestocking.”

  Christian held back a grin as shock whipped across Penny’s impossible-to-alter countenance. At least he was getting some joy from this dreadful experience.

  “Well…” Penny rummaged in his pocket for the flask, apparently deciding another chug was in order. “Consider me stunned.” He issued a humorless grunt, his gaze locking with Christian’s then dancing away. Penny was his best friend in the world, but discussing emotions was hard for men. God knows what tender sentiment was shining in Christian’s eyes. “Almost gives me a chill along my spine. I don’t believe in fate or fanciful events, or love, but damn, that’s incredible. Are you sure?”

  Christian nodded. He was sure.

  “Then you must make her understand. All these years. She’s your…she’s the…”

  “You’re going to have to finish the translations.”

  Penny crawled to his feet with a curse. “I’m the best soldier-cum-manservant in England, and I’m dutiful, but I’m not crazy. And I’m not sitting in that stifling, regally-oppressive room with a vexed woman you inelegantly asked to marry you.” He collected the edge of the blanket in his fist as raindrops began to strike the ground, yanking it from underneath Christian. “I’m scared of angry women. And tired of dealing with yours. This is your dilemma to solve, my friend.” Grabbing the candles, he stuffed them under his armpits, and kicked the wine bottle in the bushes. “If you can look her in the eye and tell her you don’t want her, if you mean it, then I’ll pack up our gadgets and tools, and we ride back to London. If you can’t, maybe your job’s not done. And I don’t just mean the watches. I guess I’m asking you to stop and think and not let your temper lead.”

  “Feels hopeless,” Christian said and rose unsteadily to his feet, the rain coming down hard, soaking his clothing and sending tiny rivulets of water into his eyes.

  Penny took off across the bridge, throwing over his shoulder, “That’s the liquor talking.” He halted on the rise, just before he dipped down on the other side, lost from sight. “And she cares. At least a little. How do you think I found you? Your lovely bluestocking was worried about you out here in the wild, three hundred feet from a ducal manor, which I didn’t point out. Came to get me. To get you.”

  Christian sank back against the bridge’s pillar, his mind awhirl. Thunder rumbled in the distance, but he barely acknowledged it. It would serve him right, getting struck during a fit of masculine pique.

  Raine cared about him.

  She’d almost admitted that. Not wanting to hurt someone equaled caring, didn’t it? Her kiss, while untutored and endearingly guileless, spoke of attraction. And curiosity. Which could lead to love. With their tempers, he expected a lifetime of senseless arguments and fierce lovemaking.

  She was everything he’d dreamed of. Clever, perhaps too much so. Beautiful and serious-minded. Attentive. Kind. Unconventional in the most enchanting way. He didn’t care that she hadn’t been born a lady. He simply didn’t care. He’d never wanted anyone else, not ever. Had been in love with her since the first moment he noticed her sitting beneath a dusky summer moon, even if no one—except, incredibly, Penny—believed it.

  He would find a way to make her forget about that ridiculous knighthood.

  About her enthusiastic groom.

  He would find a way to make her choose him.

  Chapter 5

  Christian was late for the morning’s translation session.

  Penny had overslept, which meant he’d overslept. There’d been no time for anything but a quick freshening up with tepid water from the washbasin and a guzzled cup of lukewarm tea. He was unshaven, cravat askew, waistcoat buttons, he noted as he looked down upon entering the duke’s study, misbuttoned. He’d decided to forego his coat and had his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He wasn’t going to play the part of the supposed aristocrat Raine had turned down—because his tailor was the best in London, and it showed in his attire—when the real Christian Bainbridge was an informal man.

  He would be himself with his bluestocking and see how that went.

  She was there, dependable to a fault, settled in the massive armchair that swallowed her petite frame, head bent, glorious hair stuffed in th
at horrid cap. After they crawled from bed the morning after their marriage, his second duty was going to be tossing those pathetic pieces of cotton and lace in the hearth. His first being making love to her until neither of them could see straight. He gave a mental sigh and made himself circle her to the desk. He had no reason to touch her even if his fingertips tingled with the temptation, his stomach twisting with the need. He’d dreamed about her most of the night, their kiss lingering on his lips like mist on the moors.

  As he collapsed in the duke’s chair, his fingers stumbled over his waistcoat buttons, a quick repair when there was no way to hide the shape he was in.

  Raine glanced up from her folio, took him in with one of those penetrating reviews that set his skin aflame, her lips lifting in a wry smile she didn’t try to conceal. With a slight shake of her head, she pushed a teacup across the desk, then returned to her work.

  The tea was blessedly hot, strong, no milk, one sugar. Just as he liked it. This trivial thoughtfulness combined with the rosy tinge lighting her cheeks eased the spiral of tension in his belly. She wasn’t unaffected by him or his graceless proposal.

  It was a start.

  He popped his loupe in place, collected his tools, and dove into his work, content to be with her amidst a most companionable silence. The Duke of Devon had proven to be an excellent client over the years, his watches all coming from Christian’s shop. The one he worked on now was a particular favorite, a piece Christian had relinquished with what felt like despair, the substantial blunt in his pocket not enough to ease the pain of surrendering his design. Perhaps making him an artist if not an able businessman.

  Christian smoothed his finger over the etchings on the sterling silver case, the whirring wheels, the coiled hairsprings. Clicking and spinning in a flawless tempo, with maintenance able to provide the most reliable part of the duke’s day for the rest of his life. His son’s life. Christian’s timepieces would live far beyond him, a notion which gratified whenever he imagined it.

  The heat of Raine’s regard hit him, and he looked up in time to see her green-gold eyes focused on his hands, the flushed streaks beneath her cheeks etched in deeper than before, her face glowing in the muted illumination flowing in the window. The sounds of an awakening house vanished as their gazes locked, the scent of tea and books and ink beaten down beneath the weight of his longing, his desire to climb across the desk and finish what they’d started the night before.

  His chest constricted, his body tightening.

  The quill pen slipped from her fingers to the Aubusson rug beneath her feet. She must have felt it, too.

  He rose, intent on rounding the desk and convincing her in a way he suspected he easily could when the notion came to him. With a secreted smile, he settled back in his chair. His joy knew no bounds.

  Because he’d stumbled across the key to unlocking Raine Mowbray’s sealed heart.

  Christian was used to employing stubborn persuasion—used to getting his way. Used to convoluted business negotiations, and in some instances, convoluted personal ones. He called the shots and expected to prevail while playing by his rules. Raine was used to none of this. A housemaid had limited opportunities to express an opinion. Little freedom to choose. Like they’d agreed at the beginning of this journey, within these four walls, he would be her friend first. Let her drive the carriage. A gift he’d guarantee no one had ever given her.

  A gift he’d never given.

  He flexed his fingers and held back a grin as she fidgeted as surely as if he’d trailed his lips over her skin. “Would you like to see the inner workings?” He gestured to the watch. God above, she should imagine he meant something else.

  His body throbbed at the thought.

  When, of course, he meant something else.

  But he was willing to ride this out and show her the bloody watch.

  Pushing aside the letter she was transcribing, she rested her elbows on the desk and leaned in, her simple, elegant scent skimming his senses. Soap and rosewater and the lightest hint of lemon, free of conceit or enticement, like the woman. Her eyes lifted to his, then dropped to the timepiece. “It’s exquisite,” she murmured and went to touch, then halted, thinking better of the impulse.

  He smiled, rooted to the spot, his love for her confirmed that second if it hadn’t been already. “Here.” He took her hand, extended her index finger, and lightly touched the watch, letting her feel the whisper-kiss movement of the wheels against her skin. “Nickel motor barrel bridge. Winding wheel. Crown wheel. Regulator. Escapement wheel.” With each item he listed, he tapped her finger gently on the part.

  “This timepiece will be in the duke’s possession, his family’s, for centuries. He’ll likely gift it to Lord Jonathan. Perhaps another to Lord William. And they will gift them to their sons. Or, one can hope, to their daughters.”

  Christian’s heart skipped, a full second before it kicked into rhythm again. He exhaled, his hand trembling where it rested over hers. “That knowledge gives me such pleasure, such pride, that it makes it easier to let them go.”

  She sighed, a low, melodic echo he would hold in his memory forever when he’d once wondered so savagely what her voice sounded like. Snaking her hand from beneath his, she said, “You’re possessive.”

  He knew they weren’t talking about his watches. “I’ve had to fight for everything I have, and I do mean everything, Raine. I don’t easily share. Or give up.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Is it?”

  “Stubborn,” she added, humor chasing the declaration.

  Taking his teacup with him, he sprawled in his armchair, his gaze locked on hers as he sipped. “Flaws aplenty.”

  “Kit, you’re brilliant. And irritated only because I didn’t tell you what you wanted to hear.”

  He rolled the rim of the cup along his bottom lip and felt intense satisfaction when her gaze tracked the movement. “You’re the most forthright person I’ve ever met. It’s strangely humbling. And punitive.”

  She laughed, such a joyous reaction he jostled his cup, spilling tea on his wrist. “I like talking to you. It’s been ages, forever, I think, since I could speak my mind or anyone cared to listen. It’s addictive. Like I feel when I’m close to figuring out the mystery in a book. I’m so ready to get there.”

  “You’re killing me. You know that, right?” He blew a fast breath through his teeth, slapped his cup to the desk, and leaned in until he got close enough to see the flecks of gold swimming in her eyes. His body was alive with yearning, absolutely pulsing. “I’m happy to feed your compulsion. Any of them. Try me.”

  Her eyes widened, her lips parting on a spent, ragged sound that tore him up inside. “You don’t know me well.” She drew her hands into a prayerful fist and rested her chin atop them. “I’m headstrong. A horrible cook. An abysmal seamstress. My only talent languages, words, books. I’m independent and outspoken, a nightmare for most men. No one you would truly want to involve yourself with. I’m uninterested in parties or fashion or gossip. I’m happy with my novels. A cat would be nice. A dog even. A horse. And children.” Her eyes flicked to his, then to the desk. “Someday, children.”

  He coughed to cover his mirth, but like smoke it slid neatly into the study, surrounding them.

  “Why are you smiling, you beast?” she asked between bared teeth. “You know, I used to punch my brothers for teasing me like this.”

  “Because this diatribe is enlightening as all hell, Raine darling. You’re talking yourself out of this, out of me, because you know I’ve already decided. I decided ten years ago. Somehow, this rambling list of excuses about why I shouldn’t want you is very, very good news. In the few hours between last night and this morning, you’ve decided we’re a ‘maybe’.” He snapped his fingers with a grin. “My horse has moved up in the odds.”

  “I haven’t…that is, I am…I’m not…” With a growl of frustration, she shoved to her feet. “Oh, bother!”

  He
was out of his chair, catching her wrist before she could storm from the room. Walking her back against the door, he used her body to close it with a soft snap. “I’m going to say this once, then we’ll sit, have tea, and finish my translations. No more teasing, no more verbal fencing. I’ll not address the issue again unless you want me to.” He leaned and whispered in her ear, “You’re in control, Miss Mowbray, how does that feel?”

  Her shoulders rose and fell on a hushed breath, her arm quivering in his hold. “You know how it feels. In a world built for men, it feels wonderful.”

  He braced his hand against the door, palm flat, fingers spread. He wanted to be steady—and he wanted her to listen. “I’m in love with you, Raine. My first and only love.” When she went to lower her gaze, he tipped her chin high with his free hand. He’d never realized how much taller he was, how slim and delicate she was. He felt empowered and frightened by his depth of feeling. To protect, to possess. “Penny told me if I could look you in the eye and tell you I didn’t want you, I was on the right path. I could leave Hartland Abbey and never look back. Well, I obviously can’t do that. And I won’t leave without knowing I told you everything that’s in my heart and my mind. A silly misunderstanding is not going to be the reason you run from me.” He smoothed his thumb over her bottom lip as she blinked, fighting, he could see, the impulse to look away. “My father was a harsh taskmaster. Cruel. My mother tried to assuage his temper, which made for a most miserable existence. Walking on broken bits of china, always. Cholera decimated our village when I was fifteen, and within two weeks, I had no one. My beloved brother, who’d hoped to go into business with me, gone. My mother, everyone, gone.”

  Tears sparked her eyes. “Kit, you don’t have to tell me this.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I absolutely do. You said we don’t know each other well, so here I am. Like my tools, laid out on the duke’s desk, ready for inspection.” He curled his fingers into a fist against the door. “Tavistock House was a desperate destination, though I had nowhere else to go. The earl not far from my father in temperament, unfortunately, which I could no longer countenance. I knew within three days of arrival that I couldn’t stay. He was wretched and…I loathed him almost as much as I feared him. I’d been offered an apprenticeship with a watchmaker, one I decided to accept without delay.” Laughing, he pressed a playful kiss to her cheek. “Then, I saw you. The very night I sent the note to Cambridge announcing my plans to arrive, there you were. In that darkened corner, bathed in moonlight, pressing a book against the globe of an oil lamp. I was like a butterfly caught in a net, immediate entrapment. Visceral. Gut-deep. Final. You must believe me. I beg you to believe me when I say I knew in one second that you were the only woman for me. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but it was true for me.”