Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Read online

  Since she was presently staying with her dearest friend, Lady Althea, crossing paths with Griff—as his sister called him and Kathryn secretly did as well—had become a regular part of her day . . . and sometimes her night.

  She fought not to give in to guilt because she was the one responsible for his having awakened near the hedgerows. Having difficulty sleeping the evening before, she’d been on her way to the library to fetch a book and had just reached the foyer, when she spotted the front door opening. Then he had stumbled in, only a fraction, enough to press himself against the jamb without releasing his hold on the latch. His disheveled state had been appalling. His neckcloth was unknotted and his hat missing. His hair stood at odd angles as though a dozen women had run their fingers through it, which they no doubt had. When his gaze landed on her, one corner of his mouth had hitched up. “Hello, Freckles.”

  She’d hated seeing him in such disarray, behaving like her Uncle George—her father’s brother. The man drank too much, played rather than worked, and constantly came to her father because he was in need of funds to support his gambling habits. He argued that he was owed because her father had inherited the titles and estates while he’d been left with nothing. Although, eventually he would inherit because her father had no son with whom to leave everything. It hadn’t helped her opinion regarding Uncle George when his own mother was so disappointed in him. “Never marry a second son,” her grandmother had advised her numerous times when he’d shown up at a family function three sheets to the wind. He cared about only himself, no one else. Not his wife or his own son, who had taken after him in every regard, even going so far as to hold out his hand to her father. “It’ll all be mine eventually. Might as well give me a bit now.”

  And it seemed Lord Griffith Stanwick was cut of the same cloth. She shouldn’t care, but she did, damn him. Although for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why. But she just wanted him to be better than he was. Therefore, last night when the opportunity had presented itself, she’d decided to bring him some misery and had hurried over to him.

  “I hear your father coming. He mustn’t see you in this state. Go round to the back. I’ll let you in there.” His father hadn’t been coming. The duke wasn’t even at home. He spent more nights away from the residence than he spent in it. It was a well-known secret that he had a mistress and preferred her company to that of his duchess.

  But Griff, in his inebriated state, hadn’t the presence of mind to question her lie, had steadfastly believed her, and had made haste to exit through the door he’d just entered. She’d pocketed his key from where he’d left it in the keyhole, shut the door, and locked it. After scurrying to the servants’ entrance, she made certain that door was locked as well. In delight, she had stood there listening as the daft lord knocked and knocked and knocked.

  Then he’d called for her. “Freckles! Come on, Freckles, open the door. Be a good girl.”

  Only she hadn’t wanted to be a good girl. Had wanted him to stop calling her that ridiculous name, had wanted him to be different from the two men who were causing such heartache for her family.

  Finally, all had gone quiet. After she’d gathered enough courage to open the door and peer out, the lord was nowhere to be seen. A momentary panic struck her until she heard him singing some ditty about a woman with bowlegs. She’d watched his silhouette weaving through the garden until he finally disappeared behind the hedgerows. All had gone silent for a couple of minutes before she’d heard the snores and decided he deserved the uncomfortable bed.

  Although now, she felt badly about it because she had determined that afternoon to ask a favor of him. But finding any time alone with him in order to broach the subject of her request had proven impossible, which was part of the reason Kathryn had sought solitude in the front parlor while Althea and her mother had adjourned to the duchess’s favorite drawing room for a bit of tea following dinner.

  Kathryn had eaten numerous times with the family, but only tonight had she noticed that the duke, sitting at the head of the table, only addressed his elder son, Marcus, who sat to his right. Never the younger who sat to his left.

  Although she had been on the other side of Griff, as only six of them were at the table—the duchess at its foot and Althea across from Kathryn—she’d hardly been able to carry on a quiet conversation with him. To look at him, no one would have guessed how he’d begun his morning. He smelled decadent, a combination of bay rum and a fragrance that was uniquely him, like the earthy scent of autumn when leaves turned. His hair was perfectly styled, not a single finger had gone through it yet. As though he was accustomed to being ignored, his focus seemed to center on one of two things: either his plate or his wineglass.

  A couple of times the duke asked questions of Althea. Once he asked Kathryn if she’d heard from her parents since they’d arrived in Italy. She’d answered that she had and that they were well. The duke had then regaled them with an account of his last trip to Rome. He seemed to prefer speaking to listening.

  Her parents would arrive at their London residence tomorrow evening, and Kathryn would return to them the following morning. Not that she would find dinners any more comfortable. Her parents were striving to rekindle their affection for each other, almost to the exclusion of anyone else. Hence the trip. Neither of them had ever been good at expressing their emotions. But Kathryn had received all the love she’d craved from her grandmother. Her best memories came from the days she’d spent with the dear woman at her cottage by the sea. She wondered if Griff had someplace that had brought him comfort, not that she was particularly happy about empathizing with him, felt a tad guilty about her desire to use him, but one must do what one must to gain what one wanted.

  She was rather certain he’d be leaving again tonight, because he had every night since her arrival. Hence she was in the front parlor with her escritoire in her lap as she made a list of her best qualities. Or tried to. So far she’d written only Skilled at whist. Lady Jocelyn had the right of it. It seemed rather pompous to brag about oneself, although she had no doubt her friend would rise to the challenge of listing her own good qualities, suspected she’d take up sheaves and sheaves of foolscap, laying them all out. She’d never possessed Jocelyn’s confidence, found it most irritating on occasion, which was part of the reason she’d always felt closer to Althea.

  But it was imperative that she catch the duke’s favor. She had a rather substantial dowry, and it included the cottage in which her grandmother had lived out her later years and died. It would be placed in a trust so it would remain in Kathryn’s care to be used as her dower house, while the remainder of her dowry would transfer to her husband. But she didn’t care about the remainder of her dowry. She cared only about the beloved cottage. However, in order to gain it, she must marry a peer. Because her wastrel uncle would inherit, and later her cousin, her grandmother had wanted to ensure she was well cared for, as she hadn’t believed she could rely on the future earl to see to the needs of her beloved granddaughter. Her grandmother had believed only a man with a title could offer Kathryn the life she deserved. However, with each passing year since her first Season, the prospect of meeting that marker and obtaining the one thing she treasured most had dimmed.

  Kingsland was perfect. She’d met him once. She could do without his pompousness, but then, most dukes possessed that trait. They were dukes, after all. She would be a dutiful wife, provide him with an heir and a spare, and when he tired of her, she would find her solace in the cottage. With it and the memories of the love her grandmother had showered on her, she could weather anything.

  She heard the heavy tread of footsteps on the marble stairs. Since the duke and his heir had left earlier, she knew it had to be Griff. Setting aside her writing desk, she rose to her feet, shook out her skirts, and glided over to the doorway.

  He was wearing the fine dark blue coat and silver waistcoat he’d worn to dinner. In his hand, he held his tall beaver hat. The sight of him caused her heart to give a little stut
ter in her chest as it normally did when she first caught a glimpse of him. But it was only because they were always at odds and she was bracing for the encounter. It had nothing at all to do with the fact that over the years, he’d grown into quite the handsome specimen.

  He’d obviously not spotted her because he’d almost reached the door. On the verge of missing her opportunity, a panic nearly set in. Quickly she held up the brass. “My lord, I believe I may have found your key.”

  He came to an abrupt halt, and his gaze slowly traveled the length of her. She was grateful the pale green gown flattered her and softened her coloring.

  He took several steps toward her, and she didn’t know why it felt as though her corset was being tugged tighter as he came nearer until she could see his eyes more clearly. She’d always thought them beautiful. A deep blue with the tiniest streaks of gray.

  “Where did you find it?” he asked.

  “On the front drive. I enjoyed a walk earlier in the afternoon and spotted it, just lying there.”

  “Interesting.” As he had yet to put on his gloves, his fingers grazed over hers as he took her offering, and a strange sort of warmth traveled not only along her arm but through all her limbs. “I searched the drive after I left you in the garden and had no luck finding it.”

  Drat it. Her lie was on the cusp of being found out. “You must admit you were not in your finest form this morning. Perhaps your eyesight was affected.”

  His gaze captured hers. “Do you find that I have a fine form, Lady Kathryn?”

  He’d lowered his voice and drawn out his words as though they were sharing a delicious secret. She wanted to give one of her usual retorts, although now she was noticing things about him that she hadn’t before. When had his shoulders broadened so? When had he begun to fill out his clothing so nicely? From all appearances, he looked quite toned, and she wondered if he engaged in any sports. He was her dear friend’s brother, and yet she knew so little about the specifics of him, really.

  Still, she ignored his question, instead saying, “I assume you’re on your way to a gaming hell or gentleman’s club.”

  “As the spare, what else am I expected to do?”

  She did not miss the sarcasm in his tone. He no doubt took exception to what he’d overheard that morning. She wasn’t against all spares, merely the reprobate ones, the ones like her uncle and cousin—unfortunately a category into which Griff fell. “Join the army, become a vicar, seek a position as a member of Parliament.”

  “You can’t truly see me engaged in any of those occupations, surely.”

  “Do you intend to be just a gentleman of leisure all of your life?” Why had she asked that? Why was she prolonging this encounter?

  Something—almost a longing—flashed in his eyes before he stepped back. “More like a scoundrel, I should think. Thank you for the key.” With a wink, he tucked it into the pocket of his waistcoat and turned to leave.

  “You haven’t a pocket watch or fob.”

  His attention was back on her, and she wondered why she’d only now noticed his lack of accessory and had bothered to ask about it. Why was he suddenly rousing her curiosity?

  “No. When Marcus reached his majority, Father handed him the one that his father had passed on to him. I thought he might purchase one for me when I reached my majority, but as that is six years past, I suppose I should see about purchasing my own.”

  “What did he give you when you reached your majority?”

  “Nothing, as I recall.”

  The words came out even and flat, as though he harbored no emotion regarding them, but how could he have not been disappointed? “I’m so terribly sorry.”

  An emotion now sparked in those blue-gray eyes. Anger, embarrassment, irritation. “I don’t require your pity. If you’ll excuse me, I must away. Lady Luck and other ladies await my arrival.”

  Once more he made to leave—

  “Is it likely that you might cross paths with the Duke of Kingsland this evening?”

  This time when he faced her, his eyes were narrowed and his jaw taut. “It’s possible. We frequent the same club.”

  Licking her lips, she clasped her hands together and took a step toward him. “Would you do me the kind service of asking him precisely what he is looking for in a wife?”

  He gave his head a quick shake. “The duke is an utter arse. He hasn’t the ability to care for anyone save himself. You would be miserable married to him.”

  As though he would care about her misery. In truth, she suspected he’d wish it upon her. “Please, I have my reasons for wanting to be the one he seeks to court.”

  “To beat Lady Jocelyn?”

  She offered a wan smile. “Partly. But I have other reasons that are more personal.”

  “Will you pen falsehoods in your letter or change yourself to be what he wants?”

  “I will not lie when I write to him, but I can be certain to emphasize the qualities I might possess that he hopes to find.”

  He sighed deeply. “If I have occasion to do so, I will make inquiries of him. But I will not inconvenience myself or ruin my evening to help you with this ridiculous endeavor.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I appreciate your generosity of spirit.”

  “The day you appreciate anything about me, Lady Kathryn, will be the day hell freezes over.”

  Her smile turned a bit more teasing. “I suppose you have a point. And, pray tell, I do hope you won’t drink so much that you are unable to remember what he conveys to you.”

  “Why would you think drinking to excess would cause me to forget something?”

  Had he no recollection regarding where he’d awoken that morning? “I heard you tell Althea that you didn’t recall how you came to be sleeping behind the hedgerows.”

  “Ah, that. The memory loss is only temporary. The details will eventually come back to me.”

  She couldn’t have stiffened more if he’d dropped her into a vat of cold water. Dear God, she hoped he had the wrong of it there.

  “Good night, Freckles.” Settling his hat in place, he headed for the door.

  Oh, the daft man. “Have you not noticed that I no longer have freckles?”

  Opening the door, he stepped through it before turning back to her, his grin the sort that would cause a lady comprised of a weaker constitution to swoon. “But I can still recall where they once were.”

  Then he disappeared, making her regret that she’d returned his key to him, that she’d asked a favor of him . . . that she enjoyed their sparring perhaps a little too much.

  Chapter 2

  As the carriage he’d called for earlier rumbled through the streets, Griff pulled from his waistcoat pocket the key she’d handed him and imagined he could still feel the warmth from her fingers being wrapped around it. It was quite possible that her taking a later stroll, when the afternoon sunlight might have glinted off it, had caused her to find it when he couldn’t earlier. It was also possible something a bit more nefarious was afoot.

  Flashing through his mind were images of her in a night wrapper at the door. Had she been responsible for sending him around to the back, for his ending up in the hedgerows? He wouldn’t put it past the little vixen.

  As for her freckles, of course he’d noticed they were no longer there. He noticed everything about her. He always had, and it had always been deuced irritating. The way the red in her hair looked almost brown in the shadows but competed for brilliance with bright sunlight. The way the end of her nose tipped up slightly as though it were straining toward a kiss. The manner in which her auburn brows would furrow when she was worried. The way her lips curling up into a smile would mesmerize. That her mouth was designed to provide the perfect haven for a man’s, and he’d awoken too many times with an aching cock because it had dominated his dreams.

  It was one of the reasons he chose to torment her and keep that mouth set in a mulish expression, although even then it taunted him. But his actions ensured she kept her distance. He’d always kn
own he wasn’t the sort she’d ever fancy nor was he the sort she deserved. He was an afterthought, the one held in reserve, hopefully never to be needed. She, on the other hand, was destined for a more prestigious lord, a peer. A duke.

  But did she have to ask him to help her gain the blasted noble?

  The carriage came to a stop, and he leapt out before a footman could appear to assist. “Thank you, James,” he called up to the driver. “You can go on. I’ll make my way home when I’m done.” After making his way to his favorite club.

  “Yes, m’lord.”

  When the carriage rattling over the cobblestones disappeared into the traffic, Griff leaned against a lamppost and studied the three story brick building across the street. Not a single light appeared within. It was completely shuttered, abandoned, and neglected. The affinity he felt for the place was ridiculous, but he wanted it with a desperation that sometimes caused him to make foolish decisions, to wager recklessly in his hurry to gain it. It was for sale, but he didn’t yet have the funds to purchase it.

  But he had plans for it. He wanted to restore it to its former grandeur and turn it into a club whose membership would be denied to the firstborn sons in line for a title. It would be for the spares and their younger brothers and the young men with wealth who were not welcomed among the ton. It would be for the wallflowers, the spinsters, and the young ladies who were overlooked because of family scandal. It would be a place for the misfits of Society—or those who should be in Society—to meet, visit, dine, drink, and engage in forbidden pleasures. But first he had to gain the means to make it all happen.