Scoundrel of My Heart EPB Page 6

  Yet, here he stood, unable to give up that last glimmer of hope, the frayed remnant of anticipation that tonight they might put aside whatever ill-conceived animosity had always been between them and instead enjoy each other’s company. What was he thinking—

  All his thoughts stuttered to a stop as he heard a door open and close. Moving away from the stone support, he glanced up the stairs to see her darting down them. She was wearing a pelisse against the cool of the night, and beneath it, he caught a glimpse of the emerald gown she’d worn to dinner.

  “I apologize for my tardiness,” she said in a rush, her breath coming in rapid gusts as though she’d fairly flown from her bedchamber. “Althea came to my chamber to talk once more about our encounter with Kingsland at the park. Thank you for waiting.”

  She’d come. He hadn’t known for sure that she would, but now to see her gratitude because he’d waited, he didn’t know why he’d ever doubted. “We’re not on a schedule.”

  “Still, it occurred to me that I never actually responded to your invitation, didn’t reassure you that I was indeed interested in learning about whatever it was you so mysteriously alluded to in the garden. Are you going to tell me?”

  “I’m going to do better than that. I’m going to show you.”

  Kathryn had never done anything as bold—or scandalous—as climb into a carriage with a gentleman during the late hours of the evening, with no chaperone and no one knowing. But Griff was her dearest friend’s brother. He would do nothing untoward. He was safe.

  Or so she’d once thought. But at present her mind was a conglomeration of strange thoughts, her body a hodgepodge of strange sensations as the carriage rumbled through the faintly lit streets. Although he sat opposite her, a respectful distance, she was acutely aware of his presence looming. Not at all in a frightening sort of way, but more in a not-to-be-ignored sort of way. When had he become so . . . substantial? He smelled of bay rum and spice, of mystery and decadence. This boy grown into a man whom she’d never truly noticed suddenly occupied a good portion of her musings, unwilling to be disregarded.

  A change in the tenor of their relationship had happened as well, and she wasn’t quite certain what to make of it, how to adjust to it. As the glow from passing streetlamps washed quickly over his face, she found herself waiting in anticipation of seeing him more clearly for the span of a few hoofbeats hitting the street, was nearly envious of the light that could touch him so freely and not be reprimanded for it. A lady couldn’t caress with such abandon. On the rare occasions that a touch was permitted, such as during a dance, gloves had to be worn.

  If she did find herself to be the duke’s choice, if he did propose marriage, it was unlikely she would graze her skin over his in any manner before they married, before he visited her bedchamber on their wedding night. What if his touch made her recoil?

  “You’re looking quite serious over there,” Griff remarked, his voice a rasp in the darkness that made it seem so much more intimate.

  Perhaps it was because of the shadows, or the late hour, or the fact they were alone, but she found herself confessing, “I was thinking of courting rituals. How staid they are. How they don’t lend themselves well to people getting to know each other.”

  She saw the flash of his grin, had never noticed that he had a remarkable smile. It made her feel included, treasured, special.

  “Why, Lady Kathryn, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you could read my mind.”

  “Were you thinking the same?”

  “I’ve thought the same for years now. It’s part of the impetus for what I’m going to show you.”

  “Does Althea know about it?”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve told no one.” He gazed out the window. “I don’t know why I decided to share it with you. Especially as I was sober at the time.”

  His disgruntlement made her want to laugh. Getting the better of him always made her light and giddy. In truth, she’d never minded his teasing. She had to stay on her toes with him. Would conversation with the duke be as invigorating?

  “Is some woman not waiting for you somewhere tonight?”

  His gaze landed back on her, exactly where she wanted it. What was wrong with her, to desire his attention?

  “Here I was under the distinct impression you were of the feminine persuasion.”

  “I’m not waiting on you.”

  “Trying to determine if I have a paramour?”

  Was she? Yes, she rather thought she was. “I would not want to be responsible for her being cross with you.”

  “You think I would tell her of you?”

  “Only if you took after your father and didn’t keep your trysts secret.”

  “First, I am nothing at all like my father.” The harshly ground out words implied he spoke through clenched teeth. “Second, I believe we would be hard-pressed to call this a tryst, as we are hardly lovers, nor do my plans for this outing involve anything remotely romantic. Third, I wouldn’t be here with you if I had a paramour. I would be with her. Why are you smiling?”

  “It’s reassuring to know you wouldn’t be unfaithful to a lover.” And that he didn’t have one.

  “Are you looking to be cast into the role of my lover?”

  “No! The audacity, to ask such a thing. I’m a genteel lady—”

  “There’s nothing remotely genteel about you. You’re bold as brass, and you speak your mind. That Kingsland wants a woman who doesn’t is beyond my comprehension.”

  “I don’t want to talk about him.”

  “Do you not like him?”

  “I don’t know how I feel about him—which is what led to my earlier musings. I don’t want the sort of marriage that my parents had. My father chose my mother for monetary gain—”

  “Kingsland has no need of money.” Whereas Griff did.

  “—political gain—”

  “He has no need of political alliances.”

  “True. Which leaves him being in want of a broodmare.”

  “Every man with a title is.”

  “That doesn’t make it acceptable to a woman’s heart. My parents traveled to Italy in an attempt to strengthen their relationship and possibly fall in love. I don’t want to live thirty years in a loveless marriage. I want to be like Althea and have love right out of the starting gate.”

  “You think Chadbourne loves her?”

  “Well, of course he does. He adores her.” Although doubts suddenly plagued her. She leaned forward. “Don’t you think?”

  “Matters of the heart are not my strong suit.”

  “Have you never been in love, then?”

  “I was in love with a puppy once.”

  She furrowed her brow. “I don’t recall ever seeing a dog at any of your residences when I visited Althea.”

  “I wasn’t allowed to keep him.”

  Her stomach knotted as she discovered one more thing he was denied. He was the son of a duke. He should never have gone without anything he wanted. Her parents had always spoiled her, perhaps because the three sons to whom her mother had given birth had all died shortly after drawing their first breath. “No woman, though?”

  “Never. Was there some swain in your youth who stole your heart and then tossed you over for a lady with a larger dowry?”

  “If a cad had tossed me over, all of London would have known about it because I would have shoved the scoundrel into the Thames.”

  Another grin from him. She was becoming addicted to creating them. “You see? You’re no whimpering miss. Brazen and bold. Kingsland would be lucky to have you.”

  She offered him a smile in exchange. “You are the last person I would have expected to be my champion.”

  “It does seem odd.” He glanced out the window. “We’re almost there.”

  There was a large brick building that took up a good portion of the block. That no light shown from within and it appeared forbidden was a bit ominous, and Kathryn’s heart pounded a little bit harder, but she trusted Griff not to place
her in harm’s way.

  He’d taken one of the lanterns hanging on the outside of the carriage before directing the driver to take the vehicle around to the mews. “What is this place?” she asked.

  “Presently abandoned.” He held up a key. “We’ll go in, shall we?”

  “Is it yours?”

  “Not yet, as I’m still short on funds, but the agent handling the sale of this property knows I’ve an interest in it and obliged me by lending me the key for the night.” His lips twisted into an ironic smile. “Sometimes it pays to be the son of a duke. People make allowances and trust you with things they might not otherwise.”

  “What sort of interest have you in it?”

  “I have it in mind for a business.”

  As he escorted her up the steps, she could sense the eagerness fairly thrumming through him and reverberating toward her. Holding the lantern aloft to guide his way, he inserted the key, turned it, and swung open the door. The hinges squeaked slightly in protest, which made her think that maybe entering wasn’t such a good idea.

  But when he indicated she should go in, she wasn’t about to admit cowardice to him, so she stepped over the threshold and watched spellbound as the light from the lantern danced eerily through the cavernous entryway revealing an open doorway on either side and wide stairs that swept up in an elaborate curve befitting any grand residence.

  “Come.” His voice echoed around them as he directed her into a large room that she would label a parlor if it were in a home. Huge chandeliers draped down from the ceiling. A massive fireplace took up the far wall.

  “This would be the receiving room,” he said.

  “Receiving what exactly? Your clients? Your customers?”

  “My members. Are you familiar with a cock and hen club?”

  “Why in God’s name would you think I was familiar with any sort of club that would reference a part of the male—oh, wait. You mean, like a rooster and a hen?”

  He grinned broadly, and even knowing he was going to tease her unmercifully, she thought it the most devilishly appealing smile she’d ever been fortunate enough to have bestowed upon her. “Why, Lady Kathryn, did your mind just travel to naughty places?”

  “You blackguard, you knew it would. I daresay it’s the reason you gave it such a ridiculous name. Cock and hen club, indeed.”

  “It exists, although I think you’re probably correct—it was named such as a double entendre.”

  “What is its purpose?”

  “To provide a place for men and women to meet someone with similar interests. The clubs are, or were, to be found among the less affluent areas of society. They’re a bit rare these days.”

  “Have you been to one?”

  “About ten years ago, when I was younger and searching for some sort of entertaining sport because I’d squandered my allowance. I ran across it quite by accident but was intrigued. The ladies had no chaperones.”

  “Then, they weren’t ladies, were they?”

  “We can discuss what makes a woman a lady at another time. What they were was uninhibited, fun, and free to dance with whomever they wanted—even if the music played on a pianoforte lent itself to a jig more than a waltz. They imbibed. I saw a couple of them smoke. As the evening wore on, each woman paired up with a bloke and went off to enjoy more intimate entertainments. The club’s relaxed atmosphere lent itself to creating a place where people could more easily become familiar with one another.”

  “It lends itself to sin more easily.” She knew precisely what activity those couples were going to engage in when they wandered away. Her mother had warned her often enough of how a man would attempt to seduce a woman alone, how easy it was to fall into temptation when no chaperone was about to guard against the falling. Which begged the question: What was she doing here alone with Griffith Stanwick?

  But she wasn’t going to succumb to his charms. She was a lady, knew her own mind, and would stand firm in her conviction to remain above reproach. As long as no one discovered she was here. She fought against sighing because it was becoming harder not to glide her fingers through his hair and see if it was as silky as it looked, to run her hands over his shoulders, to wonder what he might look like with a little less clothing.

  “Is that such a bad thing?” He walked over to the fireplace and set the lantern on the mantelpiece, so it threw light about to illuminate the room more clearly. Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned against the wall. “You have friends who have married. How well did they know their husbands before their wedding night? How well do you think Althea truly knows Chadbourne?”

  “Is something wrong with him?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Not as far as I know anyway, but whenever I see them, no matter how closely they are standing together, they seem as near to one another as London is to Paris. I doubt she’s even kissed him.”

  She knew Althea hadn’t, but she wasn’t about to betray that confidence. She did find herself wondering if her mother would have even married her father if she’d known him well. They had so little in common. Perhaps Griff had a point, although she wasn’t yet ready to admit it. Instead, she wandered around the outskirts of the barren room and envisioned it furnished and displaying art, statuettes, and greenery. “So you want to turn this into a cock and hen club?”

  “My vision is based on that sort of club, but I want it to be more. The club I visited was one room where people danced, drank, talked, and went off. I want to have a room where couples can dance, one where they can lounge about and talk. It will be more of a social club, a place for the unattached to explore possibilities.”

  She sensed an underlying current of excitement in him and decided he was trying to appear casual with one foot crossed over the other, but his hands looked tense gripping his arms. They both lived in a world where every action, word, and nuance was judged. That he’d brought her here to share his plans, dreams, and aspirations made her feel a great responsibility to be worthy of his trust. “Tell me everything.”

  He shoved himself away from the wall and was at her side in four long strides. “None of my members would be heir to a title. Those who are to inherit get enough attention at balls and dinners. The men here would be the other sons who are often overlooked as well as the sons of merchants and tradesmen who have accumulated wealth but aren’t invited into ballrooms. The members will also be men who have made their fortunes but aren’t accepted by Society for one reason or another. Take the Trewloves, for example. The circumstances of their births kept them from receiving invitations and yet they are wealthy beyond measure.”

  “They’ve been marrying into the aristocracy.”

  “Exactly. They should have been welcomed without marriage. There are others like them. Some legitimate, some not. White’s won’t give them a membership, but I will. Then, there are the ladies. The wallflowers, the spinsters, and those who have been overlooked. The daughters of those same wealthy tradesmen and merchants. All these women, knowing they can’t have the first son of a noble, might be content with a second.”

  She wondered if he was hoping one might be content with him. She didn’t much like the notion of him flirting with some lovely lady. Which wasn’t at all fair on her part when she’d asked him to help her determine how best to appeal to the duke via a letter. She was seeking to make an acceptable match. Why shouldn’t he? “So you’re setting up some sort of matchmaking club.”

  “Marriage isn’t the ultimate goal. Having fun is. This room will serve as a reception area where one can come if questions need answering and where memberships are confirmed before one is allowed to explore the other offerings.” He grabbed the lantern from the mantel, and when he returned to her, he threaded his fingers through hers in a casual manner as though he’d given no real thought to it, as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

  The quivering in her stomach, the fluttering in her chest, told her that for her it was more than that. It was a gladness, an exhilaration she probably shouldn’t
be feeling. Becoming involved with Griff would be ruinous to her chances with the duke, would certainly result in her never gaining ownership of the cottage. Therefore, as he led her into the hallway, she fought against harboring a deeper feeling toward him. She wanted only to have an interest in his venture.

  “On this level, are other rooms very similar to the first,” he said. “They’ll be for wandering through, greeting people, and conversing.”

  He started up the stairs. With the length of his legs, he could have taken the steps two at a time, but instead he kept pace with her. She should have been paying greater attention to the elaborate scrollwork on the spindles and the balustrade they supported but was finding it difficult to focus on anything other than him. He was tall and slender, in fine form. His motions smooth and elegant. Why had she never noticed how he moved like poetry? Every word in her vocabulary seemed insufficient for describing him.

  She’d never spent as much time with him as she had the past couple of days. He’d always simply darted into view, delivered a retort, sparred with her a bit, then departed. They’d never explored what the other liked, what dreams the other held. She’d dared to share hers with him, and now he was sharing his with her.

  Her world was suddenly discombobulated. It was as though nothing that had come before was real or of any importance, but these minutes, this hour, were terribly significant.

  When they reached the landing, he brought her around to an area where they could look down on the floor below and up to the one above.

  “I was thinking the rooms on this level, which very much mirror the ones below, would be for entertainments. A room for dancing, one for card playing. Darts, perhaps. Reading.”

  While all had been said as a statement, she detected a measure of doubt, a possible inquiry as though he sought her opinion. “That all sounds marvelous. Had you considered the merits of having a room with a pianoforte? Sometimes a woman who is shy when it comes to talking is freer with her fingers.”