To Love a Scoundrel (Zebra Historical Romance) (9 page)

He peered over her shoulder, pressing himself against
her back as he did so. "Why? Do you think I might try
to take advantage of your injury and seduce you, right
here? By the side of the road?"

She tried to force herself to move away from him, but
found she couldn't. Instead, she licked her lips and said, "Well, that is what you do, isn't it? Seduce women.
You're quite accomplished at it, from what I hear."

He said nothing, but continued to massage her neck,
his fingers surprisingly gentle and tender, easing out the
pain as if he possessed some sort of magic. How many
nights had she lain awake, dreaming of his touch? Of
his strong hands on her bare skin. . .

"I must get up" She struggled to gain her feet, but he
prevented it with his steely grip.

"Come now, I should just let you suffer? Stay. Tell the
truth-my massaging it does make it feel a little better,
doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does," she answered, her voice strangely
tight. "Still, it's really not proper for us to be out here
like this without a chaperone"

At last he moved away, rising to stand before her.
"Good God, woman, are you really so priggish as that?
In case you have not noticed, our carriage is shot to hell,
you've got a knot the size of an egg on your neck, we're
stranded here for God only knows how long, and you're
worried about propriety?" He folded his arms across his
broad chest and glared at her, his gaze sweeping down
her form and back up again, the muscles in his jaw flexing perceptibly. "Do you know what you remind me of,
Eleanor?"

Eleanor rose, feeling slightly dazed as she stood
facing him. "I'm sure you're going to tell me. And
please, quit calling me Eleanor as if we were intimates.
You know it isn't proper, and you do it just to vex me"

"You remind me of a horse with too sharp a bit, too
tight a bridle."

Ali, again with the horse comparison. "Is that so?"
she bit out.

"Indeed. In fact, I've only seen you on one occasion where you actually seemed free of the restraintunbridled, so to speak"

"And when was that?" she asked, brushing a few
stray blades of grass from her skirts.

"That day at Marbleton, when I found you dancing
beneath the tree without boots or bonnet. It was truly an
amazing sight, watching the transformation."

"I wish you wouldn't mention that ... that ... indiscretion on my part. It's quite embarrassing"

"I don't see why it should be," he said with a shrug.
"There's no shame in doing something simply because
you want to. Taking pleasure where it can be found. Doing
what you please."

Eleanor began to pace, making a circuit beneath the
trees. "That's what you do, isn't it? Whatever you please,
regardless of the consequence, regardless of what people
think or whom you might hurt"

"You're beautiful when you're angry, you know. Your
cheeks turn crimson and your eyes roil like the sea in a
storm"

She stopped her pacing a mere three feet from Frederick, who was now leaning indolently against a tree,
one boot propped against the trunk.

"Is that so?" she snapped, her hands fisted by her
sides. "Have you any more practiced lines to use, something more original, perhaps? I do believe I heard my
eyes likened to the sea, oh, at least a half-dozen times
over the course of the Season"

He shrugged. "It may not be original, but it is the
truth. You're as lovely as any woman I've ever seen"

"Your pretty words have no power over me, Frederick
Stoneham. It's a game you play, nothing more. Though
I will say you're good-quite good," she added with a
nod. "No wonder your conquests are plentiful."

He reached up to rub his cheek with his palm. "You
doubt my sincerity?"

"I don't simply doubt it. I know your words are false,
a means to an end"

"You're damn lucky I don 't do whatever I please, regardless of the consequence. Otherwise, I'd show you
just how sincere I am. Right here, by the road"

Eleanor considered his words, the innuendo finally
sinking in. "Would you, now?" she asked, fully piqued.

"Indeed I would. Of course, then your brother would
be forced to come after me with a pistol in his hand."

"I presume I'm supposed to be shocked by your scandalous talk? Is that your intent?"

"Aren't you? Shocked, I mean? After all, a lady of
your circumstances-"

"Not in the least," Eleanor interrupted, deciding at
once to put on a show of complete and total disaffectedness. "In fact, I find your predictability boring, to tell
the truth"

The corners of his mouth curved into the barest hint
of a smile. "I'm boring you, then?"

"No, I simply said your predictability was boring. In
fact, in some ways I find you amusing."

"First I was boring, now I'm amusing? Well, I suppose I should be grateful for the improvement"

And now her trump card. "In fact, it's almost pitiable
how one-dimensional you are. Have you nothing on
your mind when you're with a woman besides how to
get her on her back as expeditiously as possible?"

His faced blanched, and she knew her words had
found their mark.

"You pity me?" he asked, his voice laced with incredulity.

She boldly met his gaze, folding her arms across her
breasts. "You didn't answer my question"

"A lady shouldn't ask such a question. Perhaps I should
report your impertinence to your father." He was smiling
once more, but the smile was tight. Forced, perhaps.

"Oh, but you won't" Eleanor answered gaily, finally
feeling as if she had the upper hand in the conversation.

"And why won't I?"

"Because you enjoy it. My impertinence. I can see it
in your eyes."

His response startled her-he threw back his head
and laughed, a deep, reverberating, purely male laugh.
Finally, he returned his gaze to her, studying her face for
what seemed like forever. "What game are you playing
at, Eleanor Ashton? I'm beginning to think you a tease"

She shook her head. "I'm no tease. I'm simply stating facts, nothing more. I've no reason to be coy with
you, of all people."

"And what does that mean, me of all people?"

"Just that it's not worth my while to trifle with you."

"No, I suppose it is not," Frederick said, carefully
studying her. Not that he was such an expert on women,
but she completely baffled him. One moment she was
haughty and condescending, near-flirtatious the next.
And now her hands were trembling, even as she tried to
hide them in the folds of her skirts. Her cheeks were
flushed and her eyes flashed, her chin tipped in the air
contemptuously.

Damnation, but she was near to shaking with anger.
What in God's name had he done to inspire such potent
feelings of dislike? "We used to be friends, you and I,"
he said softly.

Eleanor bit her lower lip, then turned to look back
toward the road. He could see the rapid rise and fall of
her shoulders as she considered his words. At last she
turned back to face him, her gaze fluttering up to meet
his. "I suppose we were friends. But that was eons ago; we were but children. We're adults now, and I do not
think it wise that we ... well, that we have overmuch
to do with one another."

He took two steps toward her, wanting to reach for
her hand, but deciding it was best if he didn't. "And
what, exactly, have I done to sink so low in your estimation? After all, you informed me that you did not wish
to marry me, and I agreed that it was not prudent for us
to do so. Call me what you will, a rake or a rogue, but
what difference does it make to you if I am the worst
sort of libertine? I've done you no wrong, besides rejecting a match that you yourself rejected first"

"Why did you ever agree to it in the first place?" she
asked, her voice wavering slightly, her bravado fading
at last.

How could he explain it? How could he tell her that
he'd remembered her as nothing more than a companionable yet utterly unexceptional woman? A woman he
could tuck safely away in the countryside whilst he continued to enjoy himself in Town, his pockets made heavier by her dowry.

I can't, his mind countered. He couldn't say such
hurtful things to her, no matter how snappish she was,
no matter how much she deserved the comeuppance. He
was tired of arguing with her, tired of the tension that
crackled between them whenever they were in each
other's company. Damnation, but he needed some peace
in his life, some tranquility. The time spent in his
father's company of late had drained him, leaving him
feeling empty, barren.

Despising his own weakness, he realized that a
part of him-a small part-had hoped that once, just
once, he'd walk through his father's door and hear
warm words of welcome instead of scorn and dis dain. Disappointment. Rejection. Those things were
his constant companions.

And then it dawned on him. Rejection. Eleanor felt
he had rejected her. A woman's pride was fragile, and
he'd hurt hers when he'd said he wouldn't marry her.
He'd meant to hurt her pride, of course. Initially. A natural reaction to her snobbery, nothing more. But considering she'd been right to reject him, it suddenly seemed
unjustified, even cruel. He resolved at once to make it
right, to make her understand why he had rejected her.

"I cannot explain why I agreed to the match, Eleanor.
But surely you don't think I decided to beg off because
I found you lacking in any respect?"

Eleanor simply raised one delicately arched brow in
response, and Frederick realized he'd been correct, that
that was exactly what she had thought. Of course she
would have. A wave of remorse washed over him, and he
reached out to tuck an errant ebony lock behind her ear.
"My God, entirely the opposite is true. I thought ...
I thought you realized that"

She shivered and stepped away from him. "I ... I
don't know what you mean."

"Simply that I'm not of your ilk, Eleanor Ashton. You
deserve far better than me. As soon as I saw you, standing there in your garden, I knew you were far too good
for the likes of me"

Her eyes widened a fraction, but she said nothing.

"Come now," he said jestingly. "Don't protest too
heartily."

"I ... Truly, I don't know what to say," she murmured, and he heaved a sigh of relief.

"That it's the truth, of course. You've accurately
sketched my character, and I've no apologies for it. I
enjoy women, take pleasure in my conquests. I drink too
much, live too dangerously. My reputation is well-earned. My father thought that perhaps my marrying would rein
in my ... excesses. I, of course, assumed that I would
simply take a wife and continue to live my life as I
wished to live it-doing whatever I please. I had no
reason to object when my father suggested you as my
prospective bride, and it's actually a compliment to you
that, once I became reacquainted with you, I realized you
did not deserve such a lot in life as that" Bloody hell,
he'd never felt so emasculated, so damned vulnerable as
he did at that moment, confessing the truth to her. Yet, the
unshed tears that shone in her indigo eyes told him that
he had been right to tell her.

"Anyway," he continued on, "a leopard cannot change
its spots, and I've no desire to do so. You don't have to
approve of the way I live my life, but I do wish we could
call a truce. I've enough to worry myself right now with
Maria and her predicament. Truthfully, I could use a
friend, not another enemy. I've enough of those as it is"

"Very well," she said, her voice soft, full of caution.
"A truce, then."

As soon as the words left her lips, his heart felt immeasurably lighter. No, he truly did not deserve her. She
was a starburst of light-bright, passionate, full of life
and spirit. If they were to marry, he would surely extinguish that light.

"Friends?" he asked, holding out a hand to her.

"Friends," she answered with a nod, offering her hand
and allowing him to raise it to his lips.

He brushed a kiss across her knuckles and felt her
shudder in response. Damn, but she really was lovely. It
was too bad she was such an innocent, because he knew
with a surprising certainty that he would enjoy her in his
bed, warm and naked beneath him.

Bloody hell, enough with the gentlemanlike behavior. He could only be a kind, sensitive soul for so long. Still clasping her hand, he met her gaze and grinned
wickedly. "And as my friend, you'll surely forgive any
attempts I make to get you ... how did you so delicately
phrase it? Ali, yes, on your back, that was it. You'll forgive any attempts I make to get you on your back before
our journey is through, won't you?"

Her eyes began to flash, and she jerked her hand from
his grasp. "You're incorrigible," she snapped. With that,
she turned and stomped off through the grass, back
toward the coach.

"As I said," he called out toward her retreating form,
"a leopard cannot change its spots"

He heard her huff indignantly, and all he could do
was smile.

Eleanor reached for Lord Henley's hand and alighted
from the coach with a weary smile. The journey to Devonshire had been long and arduous, and she'd never
been so glad to reach a destination as she was at that
very moment.

As she stepped down onto the gravel drive, she
glanced up at George Whitby's home with appreciation.
Whitby Hall, they called it. It was lovely, just as Selina
had said it would be-a white-columned Greek revival
structure surrounded by a lush, gently rolling park that
stretched all the way to the sea. Eleanor inhaled the
crisp scent of the sea as terns circled lazily overhead,
calling to one another as they glided through the clear
skies.

Returning her attention to Whitby's home, she watched
as a line of servants assembled at the foot of the front
stairs. She knew that the well-dressed gentleman standing two steps above the servants and adjusting his cravat
must be Mister Whitby himself, and she studied him
carefully as she waited for her remaining traveling companions to alight and the introductions to be made.