Never Trust a Scoundrel

by Gayle Callen

  “Do not think the worst of your mother,” he said dryly. “She did not offer the right to bed you.”

  She flinched, and he saw fury dancing in eyes as green as summer grass. Her hair was light brown, the color of new wood cut in the depths of a mysterious forest. It was caught into a heavy braid that snaked over her shoulder. Perhaps she made him think of the outdoors because of the freckles scattered across her cheeks and nose, as if she spent time out in the sun without a parasol. She was small but generously curved, easy to see without the restriction of corset and heavy fabrics. He wanted to see more.

  She lifted her chin. “You are making poor sport of me, Mr. Throckmorten.”

  “I’m not. This particular player had apparently been unable to court you. He wanted to marry you.”

  “Who is he?” she demanded.

  He spread his hands. “I do not know. We all need privacy in our vices.”

  “But if he wanted to marry—”

  “Your mother offered the exclusive right to court and marry you.”

  “And he accepted that?” she said in obvious outrage.

  “He did. And that’s when I began to wish that I had not entered the game. But I did want that violin.” It had been of the same class as one his father used to own. He’d sold it to support them when Daniel’s grandfather, the duke of Madingley, had not given enough spending money to his daughter.

  Her mouth opened, but she said nothing at first, as if she didn’t know where to begin. “But you won that dreadful game.”

  “I did.”

  She came down another step, temptingly close, leaning above him to point a finger in his face. “I refuse to marry you. Surely there is no way to enforce such a thing.”

  She smelled of lavender, of moonlit nights in a summer garden.

  What kind of foolish romantic was he turning into? He’d known from the moment she’d appeared out of the darkness above him that he desired her, but he never allowed lust to cloud his judgment.

  But it was difficult not to think such thoughts when, in a deserted house, a beautiful woman in her nightclothes was showing such spirit and passion.

  He almost wanted to tease her, to insist they would marry immediately, just to see her reaction. But even he wasn’t that much of a cad.

  “Do not worry, Miss Banbury. I have no intention of marrying you.”

  “I will go to Scotland Yard and—” Her mouth shut and she blinked. “Oh. Thank goodness you see the ridiculousness of—”

  “But I am in the market for a mistress.”

  A blush of warmth colored cheeks that had been too pale. Her lips curled, and she covered her mouth. At last he realized that merriment twinkled in her eyes.

  And then she giggled. “Oh, dear,” she said, sitting down on the stair behind her and wiping a tear from her eye. “As if I would ever be your mistress, no matter what you say you’ve won.”

  Daniel loomed over her, watching his shadow slide up and cover her. She leaned back on her elbows to look up at him, which left her lovely breasts on shadowy display through her thin nightclothes. She seemed innocent enough not to realize it.

  “Miss Banbury, I think you underestimate my charms,” he said softly. He rested one foot on the stair beside her legs, and then his forearm upon his knee, his hand dangling very near her.

  Her smile faded, but she didn’t move away.

  “There have been only a few women before you who thought they could resist me,” he continued, “but they were mistaken. If I wanted you as my mistress, it would not be difficult to persuade you.”

  And then she laughed, but with more bitterness than amusement.

  He narrowed his eyes, letting his gaze wander down her garments, where he could see the press of her nipples beneath the linen. The fabric was caught between her thighs, and fell in folds that revealed her bare feet. Her small toes seemed so very intimate in the dark entrance hall.

  Since no one had come to investigate upon hearing his entrance or their loud voices, he’d already guessed they were alone. She must know it, yet she so brazenly resisted him. He admired her bravery and determination, and the thought of her as his mistress was appealing.

  It occurred to him that she was a gentleman’s daughter, most likely a virgin. But, that had not stopped him with other women…. And the challenge was so much more exciting.

  “You can step back now,” she said coolly. “Your intimidation and boasts will not work.”

  He remained where he was, leaning over her. “Miss Banbury, I don’t need intimidation or boasts. I am confident of my skills and my appeal.”

  “So you send the women swooning, do you?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “And more,” he said softly. “If I wanted you as my mistress, and set about to persuade you of the reasons you’d want to succumb, you would eventually do so.”

  To his surprise, she looked at his mouth. The arousal that had been toying with him now became an aching erection. What was it about this woman that so drew him? Surely it was only her scanty clothing and her pretty face and body.

  “You think I would so easily forget my virtue—not to mention what your gambling has cost my family—and take you into my bed?”

  “I didn’t say it would be easy. I thrive on challenges.”

  She started to stand up, and when he didn’t move, she gave his shoulder a push. He almost felt the warmth of her hand through his layers of clothing, so attuned to her was he. But he slowly straightened and allowed her to stand. She was several steps above him, but they faced each other straight on.

  “So this is a challenge?” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do you want it to be?” He hadn’t thought she would be the kind to join the game so willingly. The warmth of her breath caressed his face. He could feel his blood thrumming through his body, his every sense aware of this woman, from her creamy skin to her delicious pink lips to her hair, in which he longed to press his face and inhale.

  “And what do I get as you prove your inability to sway my morals?” she continued speculatively. “The house?”

  “Of course not.” He played a hunch. “The violin.”

  She took a deep breath.

  Yes, he had guessed correctly. “And of course, if I win, I get you in my bed, willingly.”

  “You won’t win.”

  She seemed far too sure of herself.

  “You cannot cheat by avoiding me,” he said. “You must allow me to try to seduce you.”

  She colored. “Very well. And you cannot cheat by claiming possession of the house right now. I have to live somewhere. And you cannot allow it to be known that you own the house.”

  He gave a faint smile. “Or you really will look like my mistress?”

  “No one can know about this.”

  “Whatever you think of me, I do not go around ruining women’s reputations—unless they want me to. There is no need to unveil to Society what I wish to enjoy in private.”

  She nodded. “Will you shake on it?”

  He looked at her slender hand, then slowly took it, letting her know who held the power as he swallowed her fragileness within his big hand.

  “Why are you doing this?” he asked.

  She inhaled, not lowering her eyes, standing up to him in a way that was maddening. It suddenly seemed like a long time to wait to claim her.

  “Because someone has to bring you down, Mr. Throckmorten.”

  “And because you enjoy the challenge, just like the rest of us gamblers?”

  When she gasped, he thought he’d gone too far, equating her with her mother, with him. He sensed she did not see herself as the weak creature she thought they were.

  She pulled her hand away. “I’ve stated my reasons. We’ve shaken on it. You can attempt to seduce me, and I will resist. But if I surrender and become your mistress, you win. If you break your word on any rule we’ve agreed to, I win the violin by default.”

  “Very well.”

  “And we cannot wait forever for you
to prove that you cannot seduce me.”

  “Forever is a long time.”

  “Exactly. And you’d be waiting that long.”

  “Cocky, aren’t you?” he said, reaching to capture her hand again before she knew what he was about. She wasn’t even trembling. He knew she had probably never held a suitor’s hand without gloves between them. He took advantage by pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, then turning it over and pressing another to her palm. Lavender seemed all around him now, burned into his brain. Whenever he smelled it again, he would remember this night, the challenge of this woman. He touched her with his tongue, and although she stiffened, she did not gasp or frantically pull away.

  “A time limit, Mr. Throckmorten. You have one week to prove my supposed inability to resist you,” she said with subtle sarcasm. She removed her hand from his.

  “Three weeks.”

  “Two,” she shot back.

  “Very well.”

  “And all I have to do is resist you.” She sounded as if she would be getting off lightly.

  “And soon you won’t even want to do that, Miss Banbury.”

  “I’ll be doing other things as well, have no fear.”

  “Against me?”

  “Against you.”

  “Ah, I look forward to it.”

  Then neither of them spoke, and they just looked at each other. Daniel wondered if she were taking his measure, as he was hers. He was suddenly glad that he’d won that card game.

  “You may leave now, Mr. Throckmorten,” she said softly.

  “I look forward to our next visit, Miss Banbury.”

  Strangely, it took effort for him to turn away from her. He wanted to sweep her into his arms, carry her up the stairs, and prove to her that she would be no match against his seduction.

  But that wasn’t part of the game.

  When he reached the door, she said, “Mr. Throckmorten?”

  He glanced over his shoulder, and she held out her hand.

  “The key, please.”

  “I own this town house.”

  “And you agreed not to reveal that fact. While I am living here, you will not find it so easy to enter again. The key, please.”

  He walked back to her, noticing with amusement that she still had not come all the way down the stairs. She liked meeting him eye to eye. And he didn’t mind giving her the key—he still had one to the kitchen door. He placed the key in her palm, and before she could pull away, he folded her fingers around it.

  “Clutch it tightly, Miss Banbury,” he said in a soft voice. “I won’t willingly give up anything else.”

  She pressed her lips together, but all she did was nod.

  He bowed. “Good evening.”

  As he closed the door behind him, he heard her turn the lock. He didn’t look back as he descended the stairs to the street, where his horse waited. He felt lighter than he had in a long time.

  He’d been restless lately, on edge—bored. He was almost thirty, and the life he’d been leading since he’d been sent down in disgrace from Cambridge years before no longer seemed enough. He had accumulated a fortune, and the making of it now seemed too easy. Even gambling, taking wild risks and winning, had lost its appeal, for he was talented enough to win at anything that required skill—including seduction.

  But now he had a new challenge to focus on. He sensed that Grace Banbury wasn’t used to someone with his control. Her mother surely had none. By the sight of the bare town house, her brother was not much better.

  Grace most likely took care of them all, as she was trying to do now. The violin couldn’t be all she wanted, although he knew it would bring a pretty penny. She’d just been betrayed by her mother, had just lost the security of a home.

  But she was playing her own game with him, and he wouldn’t deprive her of it.

  Or deprive himself of the chance to have her willingly naked in his bed. Daniel didn’t need the lengthy commitment of marriage. He had no need to please his family, for he wasn’t the real heir. He and Grace would tire of each other and move on, the inevitable result, but until then, he would show her pleasures that she had never imagined.

  Grace didn’t trust him. She stood near the window beside the front door, watching between the draperies as he mounted his horse and rode away. The gaslights illuminated his figure down the length of the street, and she watched his straight back, the easy way he rode his horse.

  He thought he had command of everything.

  With a groan, she sat down on the bottom step and put her face in her hands. What had she allowed to happen?

  There was a sick feeling, a twisting of her gut inside, as if she were somehow surprised at what her mother had done. So many times over the years, Grace had thought her mother could not possibly do anything worse. And usually, Grace was unpleasantly surprised.

  But this—

  She swallowed heavily. Her mother always believed she would win, always assumed the risk smaller than it was. Because a man wanted to marry Grace, her mother had used that against him, “sweetening” the winnings.

  I am not a prize to be won, Grace thought bleakly.

  But thank God, Mr. Throckmorten had not wanted her to wife. He was not foolish enough to try to enforce such a prize. And she wasn’t even offended that he didn’t want to marry her. He didn’t know anything about her.

  Except that he desired her.

  She shivered, and she admitted to herself that it wasn’t unpleasant. She had always reacted this way to men who looked at her with appreciation. To her dismay, she had always enjoyed every moment of it, basking in the attention, flirting as only a too-confident woman could.

  Until it had almost cost her her reputation and her self-respect.

  If she dwelled on that, she’d make herself sick. She had learned long ago to get on with the repairs of her family, to make things right. The newest plan had come to her in the middle of Mr. Throckmorten’s boasts about his prowess in seducing women, and Grace had seized on it with a foolhardiness that couldn’t be helped. She needed that violin. Sadly, it was not for the childhood memories, but for its monetary worth. She’d been told it was so rare that collectors would pay thousands of pounds for it. Would that be enough to offer as the initial payment toward one of the family’s properties? And then she’d own it, and her mother would have no control.

  But to get the violin back, she’d had to make a bet with a gambler, something she’d sworn she would never do. The sick, hollow feeling came back, almost eating her up inside. Was she truly more like her mother than she’d ever thought?

  But no, she was only doing this to fix her mother’s mistake, to give Edward the home that had been taken away from him. She had no access to her own dowry money; it was locked up too tightly in the bank so that even her mother couldn’t get at it. And if she married some man out of desperation, there was no guarantee he’d even allow her to have any part of the dowry.

  Grace was confident in her ability to win. There was no risk at all. Though Mr. Throckmorten could try all he wanted, she would never allow herself to be seduced when so much was at stake. She had learned her lesson.

  Chapter 3

  Grace sat still, afraid to think about what she’d done. A key rattled in the front door, and with a gasp, she came to her feet. But this time it was the familiar, beloved face of her brother, his brown hair mussed, his chin shadowed with a day’s growth of whiskers, his expression shocked and concerned.

  “Grace, when did you arrive?” he demanded with confusion.

  Before she could answer, his gaze took in her nightclothes, his eyes widened, and he glanced back outside.

  “But I saw Throckmorten leaving here. I thought I must have accidentally left the door unlocked. I’m still so used to having the butler—” He broke off with a wince, then his stormy gray eyes settled on her once again. “Did you speak with him?”

  “I did,” she said gravely. “When he arrived, he didn’t know I was here.”

  “I don’t owe him a
nything—”

  “No, but Mother does. Or did.”

  He only looked bewildered. It was obvious he’d had a bit too much to drink, but he wasn’t drunk, and for that she was grateful.

  “Come up to the drawing room, Edward. I have so much to tell you.”

  When they were seated across from each other on two sofas, Edward listened to her story while wearing a weary expression. She hated seeing the hurt in his eyes when she had to tell him that their mother had lost his only inheritance. He looked confused and crushed, not the same young man brimming with vitality that she remembered. She kept waiting with dread for him to say he’d win it all back, but he didn’t.

  And she found that almost worse.

  When the time came for her to explain how their mother’s bet related to her, the words stuck in her throat. It was too embarrassing, and Edward didn’t need to know. For then he’d ask what Mr. Throckmorten had said about a marriage between them, and she’d be forced to lie somehow. And she didn’t want to lie to her brother. It was bad enough keeping things from him. But how could she tell him that his sister, still reeling from her foolish conduct with Baxter Wells, had just challenged another man to try to seduce her?

  Edward would forbid it. He would try to protect her, might challenge Mr. Throckmorten to a duel, for heaven’s sake.

  But he did deserve to know that she had some kind of plan. She trusted her brother; she just didn’t trust his judgment anymore, she thought sadly.

  “He has the violin, Edward,” she said, wringing her hands and looking away.

  “The violin that was to be yours? Mother gave that away, too?” he added in disgust.

  “Yes, but I think I can persuade him to give it back. And if we sell it, surely we can afford to rent a place to live, maybe even one of our own homes.”

  “But how can you get it back?”

  She didn’t know what lie to tell him. “He did agree to allow us to live here for a while. He was not so cruel as to put us onto the streets.”

  “How nice of him,” he said sarcastically, “when he has so many family homes to choose from.”