To Seduce A Scoundrel

by Darcy Burke

  Ambrose only said, “I’m doing a favor for someone. Bloke called Jagger.”

  Hopkins’s eyes widened. “That gutter rat? How’d you get mixed up with the likes of him?”

  “You know him?” Ambrose’s first order of business today had been to learn all he could about the jackanapes. To have information fall readily into his lap was most convenient. He wrapped his hands around his ale cup and settled back in his chair. “Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know him personally, mind you. He runs a group of thieves, pickpockets, and the like. Plus a band who’ll obtain an object for a price.”

  “I could hire them to steal something?”

  Hopkins nodded. “I heard he owns a brothel or two as well, maybe an interest in an opium den.”

  “Sounds like a charming fellow.” Plenty of criminal interests and now he wanted to back a legitimate prizefighter? Something didn’t make sense.

  As if he’d heard Ambrose’s thoughts, Hopkins said, “Never heard of him backing a prizefighter before. Why do you owe him a favor? What’s he got on you?”

  Ambrose should’ve expected Hopkins to figure that much out. He was far more astute than most people gave a huge brute like him credit for. Still, he wouldn’t mention Philippa. The fewer people who knew about his connection to her the better. “Nothing. Believe it or not, I’m actually looking forward to fighting.”

  And he was, save the part where everyone cheered and heaped glory upon him when he won. He’d grown up with an overabundance of such distinction, as his father’s favorite, the district’s pride, and his brother’s hero—all roles he’d felt entitled to. And all roles he’d proven he didn’t deserve.

  Hopkins regarded him with an expression of disbelief. “Well, you must have a reason beyond that. Can’t see you getting into bed with the likes of Jagger unless someone needs your help.”

  Again, Hopkins was smarter than Ambrose wanted him to be—at least about this. “You’re giving me far too much credit.”

  Hopkins shook his head. “No, you’ve helped plenty of men. Like me. This club has saved a lot of blokes.”

  Ambrose shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with Hopkins’ words. He’d never said anything like that before. “Don’t fool yourself. This club is my little hobby. I just let all of you in so I have someone to fight.”

  Hopkins rolled his eyes. “Right then. You don’t help anyone. Except Tom. You’ll at least admit you helped him?”

  He supposed he’d “helped” Tom when he’d purchased the building that housed the Black Horse from a brutal, money-grubbing jackass. But Ambrose had also bought it for his own selfish reasons. He’d just started using the Black Horse’s back room for his fighting club when the landlord had threatened to evict Tom. Since Ambrose preferred to deal with Tom, he’d just bought the damned building.

  “Fine, I surrender. But keep that to yourself. Back to Jagger.” Ambrose wanted to learn all he could about Jagger—assess the true depth of his threats. He didn’t doubt the man would socially ruin Philippa, but would he take things further? He’d certainly implied that he could, without fear of meeting the hangman. “Sounds like he’s not a brutal criminal? I like to know what sort of man I’m getting involved with.”

  Hopkins cleared his throat. “Mayhap you should’ve thought of that before you agreed?” At Ambrose’s quelling stare, he shrugged. “Haven’t heard of him to be a murderer, if that’s what you’re getting at. Though he’s pretty tight with Gin Jimmy, and he’s a nasty sort. Wouldn’t want to cross him.” Hopkins took another gulp of ale.

  Now Gin Jimmy Ambrose had heard of. He was one of the largest gin producers in London and owned several opium dens and brothels. He preyed on people’s vices and addictions to their absolute destruction, and never looked twice at the bodies he left in his wake. If Jagger was a bosom friend of Gin Jimmy, Ambrose had cause to worry.

  Hopkins set his empty cup on the table. “What does this mean for the club? You disbanding it?”

  “Lord, no. Last night’s absence was a one-time occurrence. Though, I suppose I’ll miss the night of the prizefight.”

  “Won’t matter. All the men will go to watch it anyway. When and where?”

  Ambrose had received the specifics of the bout from Jagger before leaving last night. “Dirty Lane. Friday the sixteenth.”

  “You need me to help you train?”

  “Probably.” One couldn’t be too prepared. “You ever see this Irishman—Nolan’s his name—fight?”

  “That your opponent?” At Ambrose’s nod, he continued, “No, but I’ve heard of him.”

  Ambrose had heard of him too, but was hoping someone had actually seen him. Nolan had lost only three fights in his entire career, and none for the past two years. He had his eye on battling Belcher for the title, which was why Jagger needed Ambrose to win. Why he’d recruited Ambrose in the first place.

  Recruited. More like forced. Jagger had dragged Philippa—an innocent—into this, and it was up to Ambrose to ensure her safety. He felt compelled to see her—something he hadn’t planned to do.

  Hopkins stood. “I’d best be on my way. Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.”

  Ambrose smiled. “I appreciate that. I’ll need a few days to recover, but then you can start drilling me in the evenings, if you don’t mind?”

  “It’s not as if I need to get home to my family.” Hopkins was a confirmed bachelor, though unlike Ambrose he partook of female company from time to time. One of the reasons Ambrose counted him among his few friends was his complete silence regarding Ambrose’s lack of skirt-chasing.

  Speaking of friends… the Earl of Saxton, Ambrose’s sole friend outside the working class, had returned to London the week before. He could certainly arrange for Ambrose to be invited to select events that would allow him to observe Philippa and ascertain her safety and well-being. He could even speak to her without drawing notice. Hell. No, he couldn’t. They hadn’t been properly introduced. Well, Saxton could arrange that, too.

  After Hopkins departed, Ambrose cradled his mug and outlined his priorities. Protect Philippa. Fight the Irishman. Find a prizefighter.

  What would he have said to Jagger’s men if he hadn’t been with Philippa when they’d come looking for him? He would’ve declined just the same, and without Philippa, Jagger never could have forced him into agreeing.

  Philippa. The crux of all of this. Ambrose frowned into his mug. His reaction to her was quite troubling. Kissing her to shield her identity? Sweeping her into a thoroughly debauched embrace? Five years he’d kept himself from women. Five years of well-deserved penance threatened by a genteel miss on the hunt for a husband.

  He drained his cup, wishing he’d poured something stronger.

  Chapter Six

  SITUATED on a pale green settee across the drawing room, Abigail, Lady von Egmont, the source of misery in Philippa’s mother’s marriage, laughed at something Philippa’s father whispered in her ear. She was precisely one year widowed, which is why Father had chosen this moment to bring her back to England, her homeland.

  For the past three days, Philippa had suffered the woman’s intrusion on their household and her father’s obvious affection for her. The way they fawned over each other—in plain sight of everyone at Herrick House—made Philippa want to toss up her accounts. It also made her eager to escape. As in permanently leave Herrick House behind. Suddenly her parents’ edict that she marry this season had acquired a quite tolerable taste.

  Hence, her husband hunt had been revised to The Necessary and Most Immediate Husband Hunt and would be launched tonight at Lady Dunwoody’s ball.

  Armed with a list of potential suitors, Philippa meant to narrow her field to five or less. Then she would do her best to glean the marriageability of each one. She couldn’t hope to fall in love quickly, so she’d have to dispense with that life-long goal and settle for someone who would be faithful, with the hope they might build something more. But how could she possibly be certain of a man’s
fidelity? During courtship, they would behave in whatever manner necessary to gain the prize they sought—Philippa and her ten thousand pound dowry.

  Sickened by the spectacle on the settee, she turned her gaze to Lady von Egmont’s son, Pieter, standing at the windows. Tall with gently waving blond hair and an athletic physique, he presented a handsome figure. He was also charming, intelligent, and witty.

  Father had invited them to London—ostensibly—to see if Lord von Egmont and Philippa would suit. However, both she and von Egmont knew the real purpose behind the von Egmonts’ visit: their parents’ intent to carry on their decades-old affair now that Lady von Egmont was a widow.

  Father had also indicated he was providing “assistance” to an “old friend” given the strife in their French-occupied homeland. Philippa just wasn’t sure blowing in Lady von Egmont’s ear was the type of assistance an old friend ought to provide. Particularly when one’s wife was upstairs.

  Philippa clenched her fists, outraged on her mother’s behalf. Mother scarcely spent any time at Herrick House, and when she did, she kept to her room. She professed a headache, but everyone, including the servants, knew the truth.

  That was why, when the countess entered the drawing room a moment later, four heads turned to her in complete shock. To her mother’s credit, she simply smiled serenely at everyone and murmured, “Good evening.”

  They’d gathered in the drawing room before going to Lady Dunwoody’s ball. Tonight was to be Lady von Egmont’s first foray into Society since returning to London. She’d grown up here and it was, in fact, where she’d met Philippa’s father. Unfortunately for them, she’d already been betrothed; otherwise their history—as well as Philippa’s—would have been written quite differently.

  Philippa gave her mother a warm smile meant to convey support. “Good evening, Mother. You look lovely.” A dark purple feather arced from her upswept hair, and her form appeared long and slender beneath the graceful drape of her amethyst gown. Despite the trials of the past few days, she was the epitome of vibrancy and beauty.

  “I’m taking the carriage to Lady Dunwoody’s, Philippa, if you’d care to join me.” She narrowed her eyes at her husband. “Herrick, I presume you will escort the von Egmonts and help them acclimate. You’ll forgive me if I focus on Philippa this evening.” This made sense even if it wasn’t for the monstrous chasm that now divided her parents. Lady Dunwoody’s ball was one of the premier events of the Season and would be Philippa’s best opportunity for culling her list of suitors. That her mother wanted to personally supervise her this evening spoke volumes about Mother’s priorities. She wanted Philippa married posthaste.

  Philippa stood and smoothed the skirt of her aquamarine dress. “I’m ready, Mother.” She turned and gave a nod to her father who was now scowling a bit darkly.

  “I’d hoped for Philippa to arrive with me and the von Egmonts.”

  Philippa noted her mother’s heightened color and intervened. “Now, Father, it wouldn’t be at all fair to the other gentleman if I arrived on the arm of Lord von Egmont. But I shall save him a dance.” She flashed a smile at their houseguest who gave her an infinitesimal bow in return.

  Her father pursed his lips, and while he didn’t look pleased, he made no further complaint. With that, Philippa left the drawing room with her mother, and they were soon situated in the carriage on their way to Lady Dunwoody’s.

  “Did you mean what you said about arriving with von Egmont?” her mother asked. “May I correctly interpret you are finally getting to the business of securing a husband?”

  Philippa wished she didn’t sound so cold and calculated about it, but then she herself was going about this in a far more calculated manner than she would ever have thought. “Yes.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it. The sooner the better, in fact.” She paused and inhaled deeply. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’ll just come out with it. I’ve let my own townhouse. I’ll be leaving Herrick House in thirty days’ time.”

  Mother’s selfishness was deeper than Philippa had thought. Philippa flexed her hands against her skirt and refused to allow her chest to burn. “You couldn’t wait until after I was betrothed?”

  “I would’ve preferred to, yes, but the situation at home is intolerable. And I couldn’t be sure you would wed.” She shifted her gaze away. “I still can’t.”

  Philippa straightened, stung by her mother’s lack of trust and patience. She wholly understood her mother’s position regarding the atmosphere at Herrick House, but how could she put a timeframe on Philippa’s future happiness? She could hope her mother’s defection from Herrick House wouldn’t cause a major scandal, but it would be enough to deter most suitors—those worth having, anyway—from pursuing her.

  It seemed her Necessary and Most Immediate Husband Hunt required another revision: the Direly Important Crusade to Marry Before Scandal Ruined Her.

  “Mother, the likelihood of my marrying in the next thirty days is nearly impossible. I’d have to become betrothed in the next few days in order to allow time for the banns to be read. And I can’t imagine my betrothed seeking a special license to accommodate your whim.”

  “You don’t have to wed, you only have to become engaged. Your groom won’t cry off because your mother moved into her own residence.”

  One could hope. But it appeared her mother had no sympathy for her situation—a situation she’d created.

  Her mother turned her head and regarded her with open curiosity. “Who do you have your eye on this evening?”

  Though Philippa had given this plenty of thought, she didn’t want to discuss it with her mother. Their motives were far different even though they sought the same end. She wondered if Mother wouldn’t just marry her off to the first man they came across at Dunwoody House.

  Still, she offered a couple of names to avoid further pestering. “Lord Vick and Lord Allred.”

  Mother nodded. “Allred’s an excellent choice. Vick isn’t bad, though I’m surprised you’d consider someone of his age.” Vick was a widower north of thirty, but he was charming and intelligent, and possessed a love of horses, which Philippa shared.

  Another name rose unbidden to her mind. Sevrin. Ha! As if he’d even be at Lady Dunwoody’s.

  He couldn’t be on Philippa’s list of suitors. Aside from his ghastly reputation, he’d made it clear he wasn’t the marrying kind. Even if he were, he wouldn’t be the kind she’d want. His kisses were toe-curlingly delicious, but the darkness and violence simmering beneath his attractive exterior didn’t bode well for a happy union. If nothing else, Philippa meant not to repeat her mother’s mistake. If she had any inkling at all that a man would make her miserable, he was off the list.

  At last the carriage arrived at Dunwoody House. Her mother prepared to alight. “I shall do my part to advocate you to Allred and Vick. Allred’s grandmother is delightful and will take kindly to your attention—make sure you visit with her. At the end of the evening you’ll need to return to Herrick House with your father.”

  Philippa wasn’t surprised by this pronouncement, but again saw exactly where her mother stood with regard to their crumbling family. “I’m sure I’ll find my way home. Please don’t concern yourself.”

  Her mother pursed her lips at the edge in Philippa’s tone, but Philippa kept her chin elevated. After her mother departed the carriage, Philippa exhaled and prayed the evening would go on much better than it had started.

  Once inside, they greeted their hosts and then parted ways without saying a word. Upon entering the ballroom, Philippa was immediately hailed by her friends Lady Lydia Prewitt and Miss Audrey Cheswick.

  Lady Lydia, the epitome of a young London miss with her warm brown eyes and pale blonde hair, drew Philippa away from the doorway. Philippa barely had time to register the fragrant lilies blooming in profusion about the ballroom or the ivory and gold decorations swathing the walls.

  “Goodness, Philippa, we feared for your health after so many days away,” Lydia sa
id. “We’ve been so bereft without you—our shining leader.” Lydia, ever dramatic, placed her hand over her heart.

  “‘Shining leader’?” Philippa laughed and shook her head. “Pray, you aren’t going to start calling me that.”

  “You know very well Audrey and I are lost without you,” Lydia said. “We simply fade into the background without your sparkling wit and charm to remind people we exist.”

  Philippa felt heat rise up her neck. “Stop, you’re making me out to be far too important.”

  Audrey, a quiet young woman whom most would term a wallflower, nodded in agreement. “It’s true. You always make sure we’re included in conversations, and you endeavor to secure us dance partners. You’re a true friend. We missed you.”

  Philippa gave Audrey’s hand a squeeze. “I missed you, too.”

  Lydia leaned forward. “Yes, well, so many things have happened. Saxton has returned with his bride. There’s a rumor she’s increasing.” In addition to her penchant for drama, Lydia thrived on gossip. She narrowed her eyes and regarded Philippa shrewdly. “Is that why you stayed away? Of course I would completely understand. Losing Saxton to her of all people…” She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

  Philippa ignored Lydia’s spite. Lydia possessed a wealth of time, a dearth of hobbies, and a harridan of an aunt who encouraged her to obtain and spread gossip at a breakneck pace. It was because of her poor example that Philippa sought to affect Lydia in more positive ways. She smiled and gave a light shrug. “You know I declined his suit, Lydia.”

  Audrey pursed her lips at Lydia. “Philippa isn’t bothered in the least by Saxton or his bride.”

  Lydia looked unconvinced, but said nothing more on the subject. “The other morsel you missed has to do with Viscount Sevrin.”

  Her heartbeat gained speed. Sevrin? She couldn’t help but inwardly cringe as she thought of the scandalous way in which they’d met and spent their evening at Lockwood House. For a moment, her blood ran cold as she wondered if she was somehow part of this gossip. But, no, surely her friends would have told her immediately, or visited her before now.