Never Seduce a Scoundrel

by Sabrina Jeffries

  She stiffened.Don’t lie to yourself, Amelia. If it had been real, he would have told you about Dolly. He didn’t. And still hasn’t.

  But tonight he would.

  Unless she saw him before then, when he came to annoy Pomeroy as part of his cursed program to ingratiate himself with her. If he did, should she confront him? No, there’d be no privacy with her fellow classmates milling about and Mrs. Harris watching. Besides, his evidence was at the Kirkwoods’.

  Though if he did show up here, she’d have trouble restraining her tongue and her temper. Dolly, an embezzler’s accomplice—hah!

  She frowned at Mrs. Harris. “I now perfectly understand your cynicism about men. Sometimes they’re nothing but a curse.”

  Mrs. Harris laughed. “For proof, you need only look out your front door.”

  “One of my clippings mentioned a pasha whose wife poisoned him. A pity I can’t do the same to Lord Pompous.” An almost hysterical laugh bubbled to her lips. Only imagine poor Papa, with a supposed thief for a wife and a murderess for a daughter.

  “If I remember the clipping correctly, the man survived the poisoning,” Mrs. Harris pointed out, “so what good was that?”

  “Ah, but the poison gave him a great deal of indigestion.” She smiled grimly. “I’ll wager he reconsidered his arrogant behavior toward her after spending a few hours in a…forcible purge.”

  “I’ll wager he had his wife executed for it,” Mrs. Harris said dryly.

  Amelia only half heard her. What if she were to…

  She headed for the door and called for a maid. As soon as the girl appeared, she said, “Have Cook prepare a tray with a nice selection of cake and biscuits, a pot of strong tea, and a flask of brandy. I know Papa keeps some somewhere.”

  “B-Brandy?” the maid asked.

  “Not for me, for Lord Pomeroy.” The girl started to leave, and Amelia added, “But bring the tray to me when it’s prepared. I want to add something to the presentation before we send it out to him. And do tell Cook to hurry.” She wanted Pomeroy gone before her friends arrived.

  As the maid scurried off, Amelia headed for the still-room cabinet upstairs.

  Mrs. Harris hurried after her. “Amelia, what are you planning?”

  “To purge myself of the annoying Lord Pomeroy.”

  The widow groaned. “You cannot possibly mean to—”

  “Why not?” Lifting her skirts, Amelia ran up the stairs with Mrs. Harris at her heels. “It would make him think twice about stationing himself outside my door. And it will certainly get rid of him during the tea.”

  “Are you sure this will work?” Mrs. Harris asked as they reached the next floor. “That it won’t merely prompt the marquess into more drastic behavior?”

  “At this point, I don’t care.” Amelia cast a frustrated glance down the stairs. “For today, at least, I’d like to be free of the little drama in our street. Can you imagine what everyone will say if they arrive to find not one, but two men at daggers drawn on my doorstep? I’m merely providing Lord Pompous with an incentive to move on. That way, if Major Winter does happen by, he won’t settle himself on my steps polishing a cannon.”

  Mrs. Harris hesitated before turning toward her bedchamber. “Then I have a purge that will make any man take off at a run directly after ingesting it.”

  Amelia laughed. “Why, Mrs. Harris, I would never have guessed you could be so wicked.”

  Mrs. Harris flashed Amelia a rueful smile. “You have no idea, my dear. At times I am just as tempted by mischief as you.”

  “Good,” Amelia said stoutly. “We lady adventurers must stick together.”

  Before the so-called gentlemen adventurers—Lucas and Lord Pompous and yes, the mysterious Theodore Frier—trampled them underfoot.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Dear Cousin,

  Lord Pomeroy has become such an annoyance that he has forced us to resort to drastic action. I shall keep you informed of the results. Newgate may be in our future yet.

  Your shameless friend,

  Charlotte

  Lucas walked briskly toward Amelia’s carrying today’s “tool of intimidation”—his Springfield rifle with bayonet—along with his cleaning gear. He was getting damned tired of the general’s standard battle maneuvers. Advance on enemy territory. Stake his claim. Wait for the enemy to strike.

  Which Lucas couldn’t do if he was to honor his promise to Amelia. He didn’t know how much longer he could bide his time, however. Every time he saw that damned general, it riled him up.

  Suddenly, a coach clattered down the street in front of him at breakneck speed. It was Pomeroy’s—racing away from Amelia’s street as if the devil nipped at its heels. A niggling unease settled in Lucas’s gut. What had set the general off before Lucas had even arrived to stand guard?

  He got his answer when he turned onto Amelia’s street to enter a scene of pure society mayhem. Coachmen shouted, grooms scurried, and horses stamped as fancy coaches with ornate crests descended on Amelia’s house. Liveried footmen handed out young ladies and their maids. Judging by the costly look of their carriages and clothing, these were Amelia’s classmates.

  Damnation, he’d forgotten. She was holding a tea today.

  No wonder the general had raced off. Seeing this many lofty young ladies swarming about, all rich, all noble, and all probably virginal, would send any man running for the hills.

  Any man except Lucas. He’d come to see her, and no society tea would stop him. Because Amelia hadn’t accepted his invitation to dine tonight. Was she balking at the courtship? Punishing him for trying to run off that ass Pomeroy? Whatever the reason, he meant to get to the bottom of it.

  But he didn’t aim to have an audience for their discussion. He’d wait until her friends were settled inside, then have the butler summon her for a private word.

  Once the street cleared, he approached the house, climbed the front steps, and rapped at the door. The butler himself answered, and the warmth in his features showed that he recognized Lucas as the man who’d run off Pomeroy for the past few days.

  Lucas smiled. “I’d be much obliged if you’d tell Lady Amelia that Major Winter is here to see her.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Lady Amelia is engaged at present.”

  “I know. I just want a quick word with her.” Lucas heard laughter spilling down the stairs. “At least tell her I’m here.”

  The butler nodded and showed him inside, then climbed the stairs. Setting his rifle and gear by the door, Lucas began to pace the foyer.

  Amelia was his only remaining lead. Between his stints on Amelia’s doorstep, he’d pursued other, more flimsy leads. In the interests of improving relations between their two countries, the British government had happily opened up records about Frier’s parents and their emigration to America. But they’d downright refused to provide information about the Earl of Tovey.

  All he’d learned was the date of the earl’s marriage. Though it fit nicely with the dates of Dorothy Frier’s movements, it really only proved that she might be using the alias “Dorothy Smith,” which he already knew.

  But he planned to move forward in his investigation tonight at dinner. Kirkwood had promised to help; with two of them asking questions, it would look less suspicious. Lucas had to get Amelia there first, however. What was taking that damned butler so long, anyway?

  No sooner had he thought it than the butler returned. “This way, sir.” He gestured to the stairs.

  She was meeting him upstairs? Fine.

  He followed the butler to the next floor and down the hall past a big sarcophagus. Leave it to Amelia to furnish her house with a painted wooden coffin.

  The butler stopped outside a room from which sounded noisy girlish chatter, and before Lucas even realized what he was up to, the man opened the door to announce, “Major Lucas Winter.”

  Hellfire and damnation. Just what he didn’t need—to make his request before the whole hen party. But he was trapped now.

  “M
ajor Winter!” Amelia cried, as he walked in. With a brittle smile, she turned from helping the maids prepare tea. “Hopkins, take the major’s coat and hat. He’ll be joining us.”

  “I don’t mean to intrude, ma’am.” What game was she playing?

  At least a dozen females packed the room, some of them perched on a couch of carved and gilded mahogany with sphinxes on the arms, others sitting in the matching armchairs, and all regarding him with avid curiosity.

  “It’s no intrusion, Major,” said Mrs. Harris. Her eyes danced with merriment as she gestured for him to come sit in the empty chair next to her. “We took a vote. The ladies felt that we needed a man’s perspective on our topic of discussion.”

  Uh-oh. Anytime a woman asked for a “man’s perspective,” she really meant she wanted him to state her own. But if he played this carefully, he might get Amelia’s friends to tell him about Lady Tovey. And he could always talk to Amelia alone after the women left.

  Giving the butler his hat and coat, Lucas seated himself in the black armchair Mrs. Harris had indicated. “I’ll try to oblige you ladies, if the topic is one I know anything about.”

  That sent them into gales of laughter that Mrs. Harris silenced with a word. Then she introduced them. The only lady he took particular note of was Miss Sarah Linley, the woman Kirkwood meant to marry. Lucas understood why; anybody could see she was a beauty.

  But he preferred brunettes to blondes any day. Plus she had that uppity society air that might suit Kirkwood fine but set his own temper to simmering. The air that Amelia usually lacked.

  Not today, however. “We’re so glad you could join us, sir,” she said, her back ramrod straight as she helped the maids. “We were just saying—”

  The door burst open and another young woman rushed in, then headed straight for Amelia. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” She didn’t even notice Lucas as he rose at the other end of the room. “I paid a visit to Lady Byrne. Her husband knows everything about everyone, so I thought he might have information about that American major Mrs. Harris said you—”

  “Miss North,” Amelia interrupted, then jerked her head toward Lucas. “Meet Major Lucas Winter.”

  Miss North stiffened, then slowly turned to see Lucas standing there, fighting a smile.

  “Major Winter,” Amelia murmured, “this is my good friend, Louisa North. She sometimes helps Mrs. Harris with our lessons.”

  “When she’s not investigating your suitors,” he added.

  The women snickered. He wasn’t worried. The few people who knew why he was really here weren’t the kind to speak out of turn.

  Unlike poor Miss North. Although a blush touched her cheeks, she met his gaze as boldly as Amelia. “Forgive me for my lack of tact, sir, but we don’t usually have gentlemen at our little teas.”

  “No need to apologize.” And he didn’t want to antagonize Amelia’s friends. He offered her his chair. “I’mthe intruder here.”

  As Miss North seated herself, he walked over to the fireplace. On this fine June afternoon there was no fire in the hearth, so he leaned against the mantel, giving him a perfect view of the whole assembly.

  Especially their bold leader, Lady Delilah—except today, she was as far from Delilah as a woman could get. With her lush hair bunched up tight atop her head and her frilly, flouncy gown, she looked too much like the other ladies for his taste. He wanted to march over, grab her up, and kiss that proper mouth until it softened into a smile.

  That would give her friends something to talk about.

  As if she read his thoughts, Amelia shot him a dark glance, then sat primly on the edge of a settee. “Actually, Louisa, the good major has agreed to give us his honest opinion about our usual topic.”

  Her tone put him further on guard. What had her so snippy today? Was she just nervous about her tea party? Whatever it was, he didn’t like it. Especially when she gave him a smile so frigid it was like a blast of arctic air.

  “You see, sir, we’re all graduates of Mrs. Harris’s school. Once a month, we meet to discuss what consumes our energies the rest of the time.”

  “And what might that be?”

  “Men,” one of the ladies said, then tittered.

  Hellfire and damnation. “Seeing as how I am one, I suppose I qualify as an expert,” Lucas drawled.

  “Ah, but not just men,” added the woman named Lady Venetia. “A certain sort of man.”

  “Scoundrels and fortune hunters, to be exact,” Miss North put in.

  “So tell us, Major Winter,” Amelia said, “do you qualify as an expert on that topic?”

  The room fell deadly quiet.

  He glanced at the oddly hostile Miss North, then the inscrutable Lady Venetia, and finally Amelia, whose usually soft brown eyes held a steely glint.

  Every battle instinct went up. He recognized an ambush when he saw one. And the last time he’d been ambushed by the English, he nearly hadn’t survived.

  This time would be different.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he cast them all a broad smile. “Depends on what you mean by ‘qualify as an expert.’ I’ve met a few fortune hunters and fought my share of scoundrels, but I don’t believe I personally qualify as either.” He narrowed his gaze on Amelia. “Not that you were trying to imply that, were you, ma’am?”

  “Of course she wasn’t,” Mrs. Harris put in. When Amelia opened her mouth to retort, the widow added hastily, “Would you like some tea, Major? We were just about to pour when you were announced.”

  As Amelia sat seething, he shot her an insolent grin. “Thank you. A good cup of tea never hurt anybody.”

  Mrs. Harris motioned to the maids. One of them hurried over with a tray of plates containing cakes and such. Another wheeled a cart with a tea service over to where Amelia sat. She picked up the unusual-looking teapot and started to pour.

  “I thought Americans didn’t drink tea,” said Miss Linley in a snooty voice that matched how she looked. “Amelia’s stepmother said Americans only drink cider and small beer.”

  “She said no such thing, Sarah Linley.” Amelia handed cups and saucers to the maids, who brought them round. “She merely said it was difficult to find good English tea there.”

  “In Boston?” he put in. “I don’t see why.” But it might be harder to find in Rhinebeck, where Dorothy Frier had been working as a housekeeper when Theodore Frier joined her after fleeing Baltimore. Even Dorothy’s own employer hadn’t known the real reason she’d run away with the man she’d introduced as her estranged husband. The same man she’d later introduced to the Canadian authorities as her “new” husband, Theo Smith. And who’d apparently become her “late husband, Obadiah Smith,” once she’d arrived in England.

  He eyed the vapid Miss Linley. “So what else does Lady Tovey say about America?”

  “Not much, actually,” Lady Venetia put in. “The woman’s so timid, you have to pry information out of her.”

  Dorothy Frier, timid? The woman whose letters to her estranged husband had prompted a hardworking young man to steal a fortune from his employer and rush to her side? A woman who’d crossed a world, lying for her husband and spending stolen money? More likely, she kept quiet for fear of revealing too much.

  “Dolly merely has a gentle disposition,” Amelia said, strangely interested in her tea-pouring. “That’s why elderly men love to dance with her at balls. She lets them drone on about their troubles because she’s too sweet to interrupt.”

  “You’re quite right,” Mrs. Harris said. “How many ladies would allow a tea to be held in their homes when they could not be there to supervise? Yet Lady Tovey actually wrote to ask if she could supply anything else for the event.”

  So the woman was kind to old men and young ladies. That hardly proved anything. Since she thought herself and Frier safe, she could afford to be kind.

  A maid brought Lucas his tea. He declined the milk she offered, but took the sugar. As he drank the aromatic brew, he listened avidly to what was said about the woman
he’d known only on paper. Even her former employer hadn’t told him much about her character.

  “That sounds exactly like Lady Tovey,” Miss North was saying. “She’s such a giving soul. Despite being too timid to participate in a project like mine, she offered a generous donation.”

  Easy to be generous with somebody else’s money.

  As if she guessed his thoughts, which of course she couldn’t have, Amelia glanced at Lucas, then said to Louisa, “I’m sure you also appreciate how Dolly supports your project behind the scenes, don’t you?”

  “I suppose.” Miss North looked bewildered. “But I most appreciate the money. The Ladies Society needs the funds.”

  “I know that,” Amelia said in a clipped tone. “I merely meant that her money isn’t what matters to—”

  “I think what Miss North is trying to say,” Lucas interrupted, “is that money always matters to women.” Not just Dorothy Frier, but his own mother. For all her gentility and fine manners, Mother had cared a whole lot about money.

  When Amelia shot him a mutinous glare, he added, “If money didn’t matter, you ladies wouldn’t be here discussing how to keep from losing your fortunes to some man, would you?”

  He’d swear the temperature in the room dropped several degrees, but he’d be damned if he’d take it back.

  The ladies turned to Amelia, obviously waiting for her to defend them.

  “Surely, Major,” she said in a crisp, awful voice, “you’re not implying that we ladies have no right to protect ourselves from scoundrels.”

  He drained his cup of tea. “I’m only pointing out that if you thought money was so unimportant, none of you would be here.”

  “So you think we’re mercenary,” Miss North retorted.

  Yes, but he wasn’t fool enough to say that. “I just don’t understand why you ladies are so determined to hold on to it. If your fortune would keep you and some fellow happy, why balk at marrying him? I can understand a man being too proud to take his wife’s money, but why would a woman be too proud to give it?”