Virtuous Scoundrel (The Regency Romp Trilogy Book 2)

by Maggie Fenton

  But alas, Penny was as effective as an ironclad chastity belt, damn her vicious little soul.

  Their arrival at Bruton Street further dashed Sebastian’s hopes for a speedy conclusion to the whole affair. He knew something was dreadfully wrong when the annoyingly efficient Bentley failed to meet them at the door. He had to play butler to the old duc, who minced his way across the front hall in his heels, grumbling about incompetent English servants the whole way, his glowering nephew trailing behind him.

  As if to prove the duc’s point, Polly chose that moment to burst from the drawing room, wide-eyed and disheveled, her cheeks flushed, her bosom heaving. Sebastian hoped for Crick’s sake the chit had a good explanation for looking freshly tumbled. He suspected she might when she threw the door shut and braced herself against it, blocking their way.

  “My lady! My lord!” she breathed. “You’re back!” She did not sound happy about it. “So soon!”

  A thunk, a canine yelp, and a curse sounded from beyond the door, and Polly cringed. Penny, roused from her slumber in Katherine’s arms, growled warningly and squirmed to get down to investigate.

  Polly’s eyes grew even wider at the sight of the dog and the rest of their strange entourage. She looked the longest and hardest at the duc, as if to assure herself he was real, before turning back to Katherine. “You’ve some foreign visitor to see you, but I’m not sure you want to go in there right now, my lady,” she said.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on, Polly?” Katherine demanded.

  Polly blew a loose strand of hair out of her face, her shoulders slumping. “Nothin’ fit for polite company, my lady.”

  One last yelp sounded from beyond, and then an ominous silence descended.

  The duc charged toward the door as fast as his heels would allow, which was not fast at all, and shook his cane at Polly. “That was Belle. I’d recognize her voice anywhere! Let me by immediately, gel.”

  Polly wisely, albeit reluctantly, stood aside and glanced at Katherine beseechingly. Katherine just shrugged helplessly as she attempted to control an increasingly agitated Penny.

  “Uncle!” Agador wailed, rushing to aid his relative as the old man pitched forward after flinging the drawing room door open.

  The duc batted Agador’s hands away as soon as he was upright again and teetered into the room calling for his pug, periwig askew.

  Sebastian had just managed to escort Katherine and Penny through the doorway in pursuit when the duc let out a high-pitched, bloodcurdling scream more suited to a coloratura soprano.

  “My salts, Agador! Oh, dieu! My salts!” he cried, then fainted back into his nephew’s arms, his cane and periwig tumbling to the floor on either side of his body.

  Katherine, a few steps ahead of him, glimpsed whatever horror the duc had seen, gasped, blushed, and covered Penny’s eyes with her free hand, as if to protect the dog’s virtue. Sebastian came up beside her far enough to have a clear view of the situation on the other side of the settee and gasped a little himself at the scene that met his eyes.

  It seemed that Sebastian was not the only one on Bruton Street with seduction on the brain. Though Sebastian would never be so crass as to have the servants come upon him in flagrante delicto with his ladylove. It was just poor form. Then again, Seamus and Mongrel, née Belle du Jour, seemed supremely unconcerned by their audience.

  Bentley and a blond-haired stranger, both scarlet-cheeked, stood over the animals, clearly at sea as to how to proceed.

  “They were like that before we knew what they were about, milady,” Bentley said pleadingly. Sebastian was rather pleased to see that something had finally managed to discommode the dour butler. He’d begun to think the man was an automaton. “We tried . . . er, separating them, but they’re having none of it.”

  Sebastian couldn’t contain his snort. Katherine elbowed him in the ribs for it, though he thought he was demonstrating a laudable amount of restraint given the circumstances. It was the last thing he had expected to find in the Marchioness of Manwaring’s drawing room, yet it was so delightfully poetic, considering the events of the morning. Marlowe would have been in alt.

  “Seamus,” he scolded with a smirk. “You dog!”

  Chapter Twenty

  A Tale of Two Periwigs

  THE FALLEN DUC was soon settled on the chaise longue, his long-suffering nephew fanning his wizened face with the pink periwig. Polly, hands wringing and cheeks scarlet, scurried away with a mumbled excuse about fetching tea and other restoratives from the kitchen. Crick, who had trailed them indoors and had nearly choked on his tongue at the sight of Seamus and Mongrel’s (née Belle du Jour) activities, also mumbled something unintelligible about horses and trailed Polly out, his cheeks red and his eyes a-twinkle. Katherine did not want to know what those two were about to get up to in the pantry.

  Seamus and Belle du Jour carried on with their business, unabashed.

  Sebastian, the rogue, seemed entirely too delighted with the proceedings, a broad grin splitting his beautiful face that none of her pointed glares could quell.

  Katherine would have been smiling as well, perhaps even laughing alongside him, if not for the extremely undesirable visitor planted in the middle of her drawing room, casting a pall over the proceedings. Johann Klemmer stood near Bentley, with that same knowing smirk on his face he’d worn at the Montford ball. She could only think of one reason he would have had the bollocks to visit her residence unannounced and at such an unfashionable hour, and it wasn’t for tea and biscuits.

  But she had developed some bollocks of her own since she was that naïve young girl he’d seduced, and after gaining the unconditional love of the ebony-haired scoundrel standing next to her, she had shed the last of her unfounded shame. Klemmer held no sway over her any longer.

  It didn’t mean, however, that she enjoyed the sight of him in her home. The Aubusson rug that he was sullying with his very presence would have to go. She glanced down at the canine lovers transacting their business, also on said rug, and grimaced.

  Yes, the rug would definitely have to go for more reasons than one. That very day.

  Fortunately for everyone in the room, even Belle, who was beginning to look a bit exhausted and bored by the proceedings, Seamus at last concluded his business and with a small grunt of satisfaction, dismounted his ladylove, crossed to Katherine’s side, and tried to nose playfully at Penny’s legs. The libertine.

  Penny was having none of it, no doubt having surmised by now that she had been betrayed by Seamus with a French tart in her absence. She growled at the setter until he backed away in confusion and squirmed in Katherine’s arms until she finally set her down. She turned her backside to Seamus and flounced off under the chaise longue to pout.

  Katherine didn’t blame her. Seamus had behaved disgracefully.

  Penny must have jarred the underside of the chaise, for the duc began to flail fitfully in his stupor. Belle trotted over to her owner and began to lick his fingers consolingly. The duc finally came fully awake and sat up, knocking Agador and the wig away and swooping the pug in his arms with a relieved cry.

  “Ma chère, what has that cur done to you!” he exclaimed into Belle’s fur. “It is a violation! A crime!” he tutted.

  Belle just licked the man’s bald head, clearly recovered from her violation and ready to move on, even if her master wasn’t.

  The duc felt the spot she had licked with his bony fingers and blanched beneath his face paint. “Agador! Wig!” he barked.

  Agador sprang forward and settled the periwig on his uncle’s head.

  Backward.

  Katherine opened her mouth to say something but stopped when she saw the smirk on Agador’s face. She’d let him have his petty revenge, even though his ridiculous machinations were what had begun this whole debacle in the first place. The duc probably deserved it.

  “Bentley,” she said
briskly. “I should like the carpet replaced today.” She glanced at Johann’s gloved hand, resting on top of a sideboard. “And the sideboard as well, if you please.” Johann may have lost his power over her, but that didn’t mean she had to tolerate him putting his filthy hands on her things.

  Bentley straightened his coat with as much dignity as he could muster and gave her a leg before departing the room on his errands, his face still scarlet with mortification.

  She turned her attentions away from the Frenchmen, who had begun to bicker once again, and onto the Austrian. She narrowed her eyes as he approached her and swept her an insolent bow, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “My lady.”

  She crossed her arms and gave him the Montford Glare. “What do you want?”

  He looked momentarily stunned by her lack of courtesy. Evidently he had expected her to play the game he had started with his false politesse. Well, he was in for a rude awakening.

  His smile dimmed a bit. “Cannot old friends call on each other?”

  She glanced around the room, even turned in a full circle just to be sure she hadn’t missed anyone. “I see no old friends here,” she said coldly.

  His smile slipped completely and he met her icy regard with an icy one of his own, not bothering to hide his true nature any longer.

  “You are rather . . . engaged this morning,” he said. “Perhaps I shall return at a more convenient time.”

  “Perhaps you shall go to hell instead. I am sure you’d be more welcome there,” she returned.

  She’d shocked him again. Perhaps too much. There was a reptilian gleam in those cold gray eyes now that had not been there before. Dear Lord, she had intrigued him. Ugh.

  Not her intention at all.

  “But, my dear lady, I have some . . . documents of yours that might interest you,” he countered silkily, sidling up closer to her like the snake he was.

  She was the one to be a bit thrown now. She paused, thinking back to their “courtship” and all of those stupid, naïve letters she’d penned to him, pouring out her adolescent heart.

  “I thought you’d sold them to my father,” she bit out contemptuously.

  His smile returned. He obviously thought he’d won some sort of point. He pulled down the pocket on his waistcoat just far enough for her to see a note yellowed with age with her girlish handwriting covering it. “Not all of them,” he said smugly.

  Once upon a time her blood would have run cold at the implied threat. Now it just boiled hot with anger.

  “My dear, you’ve not introduced me to your . . . caller,” Sebastian said lightly from her side, though the smile he sent Johann’s way was all teeth, his body stiff and poised for action. He’d clearly deduced the situation and seemed quite prepared to defend her honor. She didn’t think that would be necessary, however. She was getting quite adept at standing up for herself these days, especially with Sebastian by her side, giving her strength.

  “This is Johann Klemmer,” she said.

  One of Sebastian’s brows lifted. His smile didn’t waver, but something ominously cold took residence in his eyes. “Ah.”

  “The man who seduced me when I was fifteen,” she continued baldly.

  Johann choked.

  “Indeed,” Sebastian replied coolly, his smile hardening even further.

  “Johann,” she said, “this is the Marquess of Manwaring.”

  Johann’s eyes widened at the name, his bluster waning even more. “Sebastian Sherbrook?”

  “Lord Manwaring to you.” Ouch. Even Katherine had to shiver a little at the arctic chill of his tone. “But it seems my reputation has preceded me yet again. I believe you last saw me when I was covered in cake,” Sebastian continued. “When I broke my best friend’s nose.”

  Johann’s smile had frozen on his face as he eyed Sebastian’s hands, which had, after the mention of the broken nose, curled into fists at his sides.

  “Yes, well . . .” Johann started, his eyes wandering toward the exit.

  “Johann has come here today to blackmail me with old love letters,” she continued conversationally.

  Sebastian’s cold smile faded into an expression of extreme ennui. “Extortion? Again?” he huffed. “It is the second time today, my dear, and we’ve not even had breakfast. How dreadfully dull.”

  “Isn’t it just,” she replied.

  “As I said, I shall return when you’re not so occupied . . .” Johann began, moving toward the door.

  Sebastian tsked and took one small step into Johann’s path. The Austrian stopped short and began to visibly squirm.

  “My dear,” Sebastian said with a put-upon sigh as he stared Johann down. “I know I promised myself that I would not schedule any more dawn appointments, at least until the New Year. But I shall make an exception for you and suggest my opponent choose sabers. They are a great deal more accurate than pistols.”

  Johann had begun to look a bit pale. He went quite white when Katherine removed the pistol she had stored in her side pocket after the adventure in Hyde Park and examined it thoughtfully.

  “Do you think?” she asked Sebastian idly.

  Sebastian smirked and took the gun from her hands. “Not in the drawing room, my dear,” he murmured. “Think of the mess.”

  “But I’ve already ordered a new rug,” she pointed out.

  Sebastian seemed to consider her reasoning, but at length he shook his head. “Still, sabers, darling. I’ve been dreaming about them these past two nights. I’d like nothing better than to run one through the blackguard’s heart.”

  “Heart?” she asked skeptically, since she wasn’t sure Johann possessed one.

  “Or something a bit lower,” he conceded. “A great deal lower,” he said, circling his hand in the general vicinity he was referencing.

  Johann made a strange, high-pitched sound that set the dogs to howling and crossed his hands over the front of his inexpressibles.

  She patted Sebastian’s cheek, grinning, the last of her anger at Johann’s intrusion falling away as she stared into Sebastian’s dancing sapphire eyes. She had never loved him more than in that moment. “You are still much too weak for a duel, Sebastian,” she said. “I will not allow you to risk your health.” She held out her hand. “Your glove, Sebastian,” she demanded.

  He gave her an intrigued look as he stripped off his left one and offered it up. She thanked him, crossed the few steps to Johann, and smacked him across the cheek as hard as she could manage. It felt divine. “I demand satisfaction, sirrah,” she declared.

  Johann rubbed his red cheek, looking bewildered at her sudden violence.

  Appeased for the moment, she turned back to Sebastian. He was staring at her as if she’d grown horns, an odd flush high on his cheekbones.

  “What?” she asked, returning his glove. “Isn’t that how it’s done?”

  He leaned in close to her until his breath tickled her ear. “I want you right here, right now,” he whispered. “Repeatedly.”

  Her whole body flushed with heat.

  He straightened, giving her a wide, amused grin at the color on her cheeks. “Perhaps that is how it is done in novels, my dear,” he said in a normal voice. “But I think your point has been made.”

  “Shall you stand as my second?”

  His grin deepened and he swept her a courtly bow. “To the end of time, if you’ll have me, my dear,” he said.

  Well.

  His silver tongue had certainly recovered itself nicely since the carriage ride.

  “You cannot challenge me!” Johann cried in outrage, the angry burn of Sebastian’s glove standing in sharp relief against his pale complexion.

  “Why ever not?” she asked coolly.

  He spluttered. “Because you are a woman!”

  “Obviously,” Sebastian murmured with a roll of his eyes.

 
“You shall have to stand in line, for I shall have my satisfaction first!” the duc interrupted abruptly, struggling once more to his feet. He shook his cane at Katherine and Sebastian and nearly tipped over.

  “Oh, dear Lord,” Sebastian murmured with an eye roll.

  “Uncle!” Agador cried, pulling him upright yet again.

  “Your . . . your three-legged abomination has ravished my poor pug! It is not to be borne!” the duc cried, shaking off Agador’s hands.

  Abomination indeed. She’d about had enough of Monsoor le Duck. She tugged at Sebastian’s glove and headed in the duc’s direction, ready to thrown down the gauntlet yet again.

  Sebastian caught her by the shoulders and pulled her close before she could follow through with the challenge. “Wait your turn!” he shouted at the duc.

  The duc, startled by the force of the command, collapsed back onto the chaise with a huff, his wig tilted over one eye. “Rude!” he seethed.

  Sebastian returned his regard to Johann, no trace of amusement left on his face. She couldn’t decide whether she liked him better when he was being his usual insouciant self, or at times like these, when he turned a bit dangerous.

  “We would be more than happy to meet you on the field of honor, though I use the word honor very loosely in your case,” Sebastian said.

  Johann drew himself up to his full height, knowing when he’d been beaten. “That shall not be necessary,” he said stiffly.

  Sebastian extended his hand and waited.

  Johann finally caught on, pulled out the letter from his waistcoat, and grudgingly placed it in Sebastian’s palm.

  Sebastian gave the letter to Katherine and extended his hand again.