Once a Scoundrel Page 9

  He tore his mouth away from hers to let her catch her panting breath, and he smiled affectionately against her temple as she fisted his lapels to keep him close. “Like that, too, do you?”

  “Maybe,” she admitted grudgingly, and he bit back a laugh at her.“Well, I definitely like it.” When he lowered his mouth to her ear and traced his tongue along the outer curl, she whimpered. He groaned out, “A great deal.”

  He trailed kisses down the side of her neck until his mouth hit the coat collar that was buttoned to the top. He bit back a curse. The only thing that kept him from stripping off that coat and continuing to kiss his way down her body was knowing that she’d soon be his wife. He could be patient until then. Maybe.

  “You can’t deny it,” he rasped out as his lips returned to hers. “You can’t deny that you have feelings for me, that you don’t want a life together as much as I do.” He licked teasingly across her lips. “Or that you want me just as much as I want you.”

  “Want...isn’t love,” she challenged in breathless pants as his hand fumbled at the buttons keeping the coat closed and her body away from him. “And you...don’t love me.”

  But he did. He’d loved her for years, since long before he left for India, despite being too young and stupid to act on it. But admitting that now would only frighten her. Hell, it frightened him when he thought about the enormity of it. “I wouldn’t say that,” he replied carefully, slipping one button free and then the next until the coat gaped open. His fingers slipped inside—

  “But you love the idea of respectability more.”

  Her whispered words snarled around his heart, and his hand stilled just as it found her low-cut bodice. Surely, he’d misheard...“Pardon?”

  “You were once a scapegrace who cared for no one and nothing but yourself,” she whispered, the pain of each word reflected on her face. “I’m not naïve enough to think that you couldn’t fall back into your old ways.”

  “I won’t.” Good God. Is that what she truly thought of him? That he was still as unpredictable as that, even after all he’d revealed to her?

  Her eyes glistened with tears. “And the women?”

  “What women?” Dread surged through him. “There are no other women in my life.” There was only Faith. There would only ever be her.

  “When someone like Lady Rathbourne tempts you—”

  “I am not tempted by that woman.” Damnation, I love you! But he definitely couldn’t say that now. She wouldn’t believe him. “I don’t want her, nor anyone like her.” He captured her face between his hands, willing with every beat of his heart for her to believe him. “And I will never leave you, Faith. I learned my lesson before.”

  Sadness darkened her face as she breathed out, “So did I.”

  He flinched as her whisper pierced him. “I’m not that man anymore. I need you to believe that.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut to fight back the tears and whispered, “I don’t know what to believe.”

  “Believe that I care about you and would never hurt you.” He touched his lips to hers and felt her inhale a sharp breath. “Believe that I need you and only you.” Another kiss, and this time, he could taste the anguish on her lips. “That I want to be a respectable man for you, Faith.” He rested his forehead against hers and fought down the nervous beating of his heart. He repeated, “Marry me.”

  “No, Stephen,” she choked out. “I won’t.”

  “Oh yes.” A deep voice echoed through the stall and startled them both. “You certainly will.”

  Wheeling away from her, Stephen glanced up. His heart stopped. “Strathmore.”

  Edward Westover stood at the stall’s entrance, a murderous look flashing across his face. Stephen was certain that only the duchess’s presence at his side—and her hand on his arm—stopped the man from killing him right there in the stable rather than calling him out for pistols at dawn.

  Faith placed her hand protectively in Stephen’s. “Papa, this isn’t what you—”

  “Both of you in my study,” Strathmore ordered. “Now.”

  Chapter Seven

  Faith stood in her father’s study and stared at the rug. She didn’t look up. She didn’t have to. She knew exactly what expression would be on everyone’s face...the anger on Papa’s as he sat behind his desk, the patient concern on Mama’s as she stood close to his side, and on Stephen’s—the scoundrel!—would be smug satisfaction that he’d gotten exactly what he wanted.

  While on her face everyone could surely read the humiliation over being caught with him, as well as the guilt churning inside her stomach that she’d enjoyed being in his arms. Far more than she should have. While rakes could be reformed and eventually brought into society’s good graces, she wasn’t certain that Stephen could be.

  For all of his cajoling to marry him and the promises of his sweet kisses, how could she be certain that he’d really changed? If he broke her heart a second time, how would she survive?

  “So you went to check on the dog,” Papa said more calmly than Faith would have given him credit for.

  She nodded. There was no point in trying to squirm her way out of this mess. Or avoid the storm to come.

  He turned to Stephen. “And you met her there?”

  “Yes, sir, I did.”

  “Why?” That single word held a world of accusation, and Faith winced.

  Without a bone of trepidation in his body, Stephen answered, “So I could ask Lady Faith to marry me,”

  She bit back a frustrated groan. Didn’t the rascal realize that he was only making things worse?

  But of course he did. One glance at him proved it. He stood perfectly straight, wearing that same military bearing as her father. He didn’t even have the decency to cower in front of Papa, as any other man would have done at being caught kissing his daughter.

  “A gentleman asks a lady’s father when he wants to wed her,” Papa admonished angrily.

  Standing silently at his side, her mother placed her hand on his shoulder. Most likely Mama was there only to keep Papa from frightening the other party guests by killing Stephen on the front lawn.

  Papa’s gaze never left him. “The general raised you well enough to respect that.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Faith saw the curl of Stephen’s lips and caught her breath with dread, knowing what was coming—

  “But my mother raised me to respect the wishes of the lady to whom I propose.”

  Mama’s lips twitched, and she turned her face away before Papa could see the smile threatening there. Her mother had always been a wise woman when it came to dealing with her father.

  But Stephen’s charms didn’t work on Papa, who narrowed his eyes to slits and demanded in a tone so low, so intense that it sent a chill slithering down Faith’s spine, “And exactly how is pawing my daughter in a horse stall being respectful?”

  Oh God. Her shoulders sagged with mortification. If she hadn’t been so humiliated, she would have found the ordeal her father was putting Stephen through amusing. And nothing short of what the scoundrel deserved.

  “It wasn’t,” Stephen admitted ruefully, and Faith nearly rolled her eyes, certain he didn’t feel an ounce of remorse. “But in my defense, I had just asked Lady Faith to marry me, and she was in the middle of accepting.”

  She gaped at him. Oh, that devil! She most certainly was not—

  “Faith,” Papa said, incredibly calm and even more threatening because of it, his gaze sliding across the room to her, “do you agree with Dunwich’s version of events?”

  “No,” Faith answered softly.

  “No?” Papa rose to his feet, every inch of him the imposing duke who left men across England shaking in their boots. Faith suspected that the only thing standing between Stephen and a good pulping by Papa would be her careful answer to his question.

  She drew a deep breath, needing more courage than she’d ever needed in her life. “I was not accepting his proposal,” she corrected softly, raising her eyes to meet her
father’s. “I will not marry him.”

  It was Papa’s turn then to inhale deeply, and she suspected that breath kept him from exploding. That, and her mother’s hand which suddenly returned to his shoulder. “You are a duke’s daughter, and you were found alone at midnight in the arms of a man.”

  A snake, more like it. Stephen had so carefully packed for the picnic. Had he planned on being discovered, too? After all, he’d admitted to her tonight that too much of a rake lingered inside him to be caught with a woman.

  “I know,” she admitted, “and I regret it.” Although, if she were honest, what she regretted was getting caught, not kissing him. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to look at Stephen, even though she felt the weight of his gaze on her. “But it was only a kiss, and no one else saw. No one else need ever find out.”

  Then she did sneak a glance at him, only to see his jaw clenched so tightly that the muscles in his neck jumped. Apparently, he hadn’t thought of that loophole in his plan.

  “I’m a peer and a soldier,” he countered. “I take responsibility for my actions.”

  That answer had Papa’s eyes gleaming with respect. Drat him!

  “I will not marry you,” she repeated. She looked pleadingly at her mother. “You always said that you wanted your children to find love matches, one as wonderful as what you share with Papa. Stephen and I...” Do not love each other. But she couldn’t bear to utter that aloud. Her eyes stung with unshed tears as they moved to her father, whose solemn gaze nearly undid her. “It was a kiss, Papa, that was all.” Her words were barely above a quiet whisper. “Would you truly force me to marry because of a kiss?”

  When her father’s gaze met hers, she caught her breath. What she saw pass over his face wasn’t anger at being defied but deep disappointment, and the look sliced into her heart. It was a wound she knew might never heal, for both of them.

  “Faith,” her mother said delicately, her face filled with concern, “if anyone learns of what is between you two—”

  “Nothing is between us.” There was nothing except friendship, and even that she wasn’t so sure of any longer. Because he certainly hadn’t stirred feelings of friendship inside her when he’d kissed her. She lifted her chin resolutely and charged ahead, “I will not marry a man who wants to wed me only because it’s expected.”

  Stephen’s gaze darted to her, the depths of his eyes afire. “That is not why I want to marry you.”

  “Isn’t it?” she challenged softly. “You returned to England set on starting a new life, on showing everyone that you’ve changed. On being respectable.”

  “Yes, I did.” Firm resolve satiated his answer.

  “So you’ll do whatever it takes to prove that.” Her heart pounded so hard that each beat reverberated like the strike of a hammer on iron. “Including doing exactly what’s been expected of you all along, no matter how much it grates.”

  “Is that what you think, that the idea of marrying you grates me?” A smile of relief pulled at his lips. “I can assure you that you are not—”

  “And when you’ve grow tired of the expected, when you feel—” She choked on the word, the same word he’d used to describe what he once thought of marriage to her, “Trapped?”

  His smile instantly vanished. “I won’t. I’ve explained to you—” He cut himself off, as if suddenly remembering that the duke and duchess were in the room. “You still think the worst of me.” He shook his head in disbelief. “What can I say to convince you, Faith?”

  As she looked at him, her heart broke, because she knew the truth. That she had ached too fiercely for too long for him, that she’d spent too many nights crying over him and too many hours wondering what was wrong with her that he didn’t stay. She wanted to believe that he’d changed with all her heart and soul, but what proof did she have? She had only his word, and in the past, his word had proved to be nothing but empty flattery.

  Misery gripped her as she whispered, “You can’t.”

  He took a step toward her before stopping himself, his hands clenching at his sides to keep from reaching for her. “You still blame me for leaving, even now?”

  “No,” she breathed, unable to find her voice as she admitted the truth. Tears burned in her eyes, and blinking rapidly, she turned her face away, whispering, “But I don’t know how to make you love me, either.”

  His face fell. He started toward her. “Faith, please—”

  “Dunwich.” Her father’s deep voice stopped him in mid-step. “My daughter does not want to marry you, and I will not force her to. As she said, no one else is aware of what happened between you two this evening, and we will keep it that way.” He slid an inscrutable glance at Faith, and her throat tightened with both anguish and relief. “So I think it would be best if you leave in the morning.” He paused, his gaze swinging back to Stephen. His voice was ice as he ordered, “And do not come back here nor attempt to contact her again.”

  The two men stared at each other like adversaries, the tension between them so thick that the room pulsed with it, like a crackling electricity. Faith had never seen anyone stand up to her father like this before, and uneasiness spun through her, twisting her belly into knots. The two men she loved most in the world, now at odds because of her...She didn’t dare utter a word, not without breaking down completely in desolate sobs.

  “Very well.” Stephen drew himself up straight, his shoulders stiff and commanding, even though he’d lost this battle. “I have business in London. Let that be my excuse to the other guests for why I’ve left the party early. I’ll be off after I say goodbye to my parents.”

  “Of course,” Papa agreed quietly.

  Stephen bowed to her mother and nodded to her father, then paused as he passed Faith on his way toward the door. “I’ll leave tomorrow as asked because I don’t want to cause problems between our families,” he told her. “But I will be back for you, Faith. And I will marry you. Count on it.”

  He caught her gaze and held it while he bowed to her, a silent promise held in those blue depths. Then he strode from the room.

  For several long moments, neither Faith nor her parents moved, and despite Stephen’s departure, the tension remained. As thick as fog and made worse with each silent second that ticked past.

  Faith lowered her tear-blurred gaze back to the rug while her heart pounded a painful beat in her chest. She was right to refuse him, she knew it. So why was the pain so unbearable?

  “Do you love him, dear?” her mother asked gently, breaking the deafening silence.

  “Yes,” she admitted in a choking breath, the single word tearing from her.

  “Then why don’t you want to marry him?” Papa demanded, exasperation heavy in his voice.

  “I didn’t say I didn’t want to. I said I wouldn’t marry him.” She lifted her face and swiped her hand at her eyes. Leave it to Papa to come down on the side of propriety and Mama to come down on the side of love. But who was on her side?

  “Oh, Faith.” With a frown of concern, her mother came to her and cupped her face in her hands. She placed a kiss on her forehead and murmured, “It’s all so terrible, isn’t it, how we can’t control our hearts?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, unable to speak for fear of loosening a flood of uncontrollable sobs.

  Mama wiped tenderly at her tear-streaked cheeks. “There’s simply no controlling who we love, is there? We always fall for the worst people in the world.”

  From across the room, Papa cleared his throat.

  “I didn’t mean you, darling,” she clarified over her shoulder.

  His lips twisted wryly. “Of course not.”

  Faith’s heart tugged for her parents. They truly loved each other, as deeply now as they did the day they wed. Theirs was the sort of marriage she wanted. A true love match in every way, one in which she could always trust her husband to love and care for her and their children, to always be there for her. She would never settle for less. And she simply couldn’t be certain that Stephen
was that man.

  “Why don’t you go to your room now and try to sleep?” her mother said gently. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.”

  Faith shook her head. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

  “So be it,” Mama said gently. “In the morning, then, we’ll talk about how there’s nothing more to discuss.”

  Her shoulders sagged. Her mother was only trying to help, but she knew what her parents didn’t—she would never change her mind and marry Stephen.

  “Good night.” She gave her mother a kiss on the cheek, then dutifully crossed the room to place a kiss on Papa’s. But he stiffened as she did so, and she knew it would be a long time before she regained his trust.

  Faith silently left the room.

  The door closed, and Edward Westover blew out a harsh breath as he leaned over his desk on his hands. “Dunwich,” he muttered with a shake of his head. “Of all the men for Faith to fall in love with...him.”

  With a soft smile, Kate returned to his side and ran her hands soothingly over his shoulders, kneading the tightly knotted muscles. “And she does love him, you know. It’s obvious in every inch of her.”

  “That’s what frightens me.” He grimaced. “But does he love her?”

  “Of course he does. The way he looked at her when they danced, the way he spoke to her just now...” She smiled knowingly. “And if he’s willing to stand up to you like that, then he must be in love.” She placed a kiss against his cheek and said softly, “It’s the tough soldiers who always fall the hardest. Trust me, I know.”

  His dubious expression melted into exasperation. He sank down into his chair and tugged her onto his lap, his arms wrapping around her. “She’s challenging, independent...selfless to a fault.”

  Kate smiled. “Would you have wanted her to be any other way?”

  Conceding that his wife was right, he answered instead, “She’s never defied us before. That’s his influence on her.”