The Last Wicked Scoundrel (3 page)

“I forgot you were once a thief. I’ve only heard bits of rumors about your past. Was it horrid?”

“Not all of it.” He cradled her face between his hands. A mistake. Her skin was so smooth, like the finest of silk. At her throat, he could feel her pulse thrumming against his fingers. “I want you to promise that you will come see me tomorrow.”

“Yes, all right. Is it still the place where you took me all those years ago?”

He couldn’t help himself. He skimmed his thumbs over her cheeks. “Yes. I can send a carriage round for you.”

“No, I remember where it is. I can find it. What time?”

Tracing the outer line of her lips, he heard her soft intake of breath. “Whatever time works best for you.”

She simply nodded, her gaze fastened on him. Considering what he knew of her past, he was surprised that she didn’t run screaming back to the residence.

“I don’t want you to be afraid, Winnie.” He cursed himself for the ease with which her name rolled off his tongue.

“I’m not when I’m with you.”

You should be, he thought. God help her, but she should be. Whatever reservoir of control he possessed dissipated.

With a harsh curse echoing between them, he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips were as plump and soft as he’d always imagined, parting slightly, hesitantly, inviting him to take further liberties. And he was scoundrel enough to accept the invitation.

She moaned as he swept his tongue through her sweet mouth. She tasted of champagne, and he wondered if she were at ease with him because she’d had a few glasses too many. Then his wondering turned to wonder as her tongue explored his mouth with equal fervor. The advantage to being with a widow. She wasn’t innocent. God, he knew she was far from that. She clutched the lapels of his jacket. Closing his arms around her, he brought her in closer to him, until her body was pressed against his. He could feel her curves, her dips and swells. He cursed the clothes separating them.

Her nails scraped his scalp just before her fingers trailed along his jaw. Sighing, she wound her arms around his neck, bringing herself in even nearer.

For three years now, he had dreamed of this moment, fantasized about it, envisioned it, but had never dared believe he would ever possess it. He didn’t want to give it up, didn’t want to stop. He delved deeper, unleashing the hunger he’d held in check—for her, only for her.

She deserved someone far better than he, someone who didn’t lie, who didn’t hold secrets, who could sit with her before a fire and never fear being honest. But with her, he would always have to watch his words, always take care in what he revealed. She had said she wasn’t afraid of him, but he knew that if she understood exactly what he was capable of doing she would be terrified. She wouldn’t trust him. He doubted that she would like him; she most certainly would not love him.

Even kissing her had the possibility of leading to disaster—and he wasn’t the only one whose life might be ruined. He should pull back now. And he would.

After one more moment.

One more moment of her sighs and moans. One more moment of her lush body writhing against his. One more moment of her arms entwined tightly around him as though she would never let go.

He wanted to undo fastenings. He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her to her bedchamber. He wanted to do all the things he shouldn’t. But indulgences came with a price, and he couldn’t in all good conscience ask her to pay it.

With a groan of frustration, he drew back. Releasing quick, short breaths, she stared up at him with expectation. Better to disappoint her now than to risk destroying her. Being too long in his company would not be wise for either of them.

“Goodnight, Duchess.” Pivoting abruptly on his heel, he strode toward the back gate that would lead him into the mews. For a few moments, he had experienced heaven, and he knew without doubt that he would spend the remaining hours of his night languishing in the depths of hell.

A
s Winnie strolled back into the ballroom, she wondered if anyone would notice that her eyes were just a tad brighter, her lips a bit swollen, her skin slightly flushed. Without looking in a mirror, she knew all that was true because she felt as though she had changed in the space of a few moments, had morphed into someone with a spring in her step, a lightness in her soul that she had never experienced before.

Avendale had kissed her, but without tenderness or gentleness. Even as passion had begun to take hold and William had deepened the kiss, it wasn’t about possession or control, but rather giving, sharing, enjoying—completely and absolutely. While she had initially been taken aback by his hunger, had experienced a few seconds of panic, his tenacity, his honest desire had enticed her to react in kind, to know that he meant her no harm. He caused her heart to accelerate, her skin to warm, her nerves to tingle, her toes to curl. In a few breathless moments he had shown her that it could be pleasant to have a man’s attentions.

He had kissed her tonight and she would see him on the morrow. She could scarcely wait. It didn’t matter that he had left abruptly or that he had not used an endearment as they parted ways. What mattered was that she knew he desired her. What mattered was that he didn’t frighten her.

“Winnie?”

She came to a quick stop as her dearest friend in all the world, the Countess of Claybourne, approached her. “Hello, Catherine.”

Catherine had given her a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek when she and the Earl of Claybourne had arrived earlier. Now she simply studied Winnie as though seeing her for the first time. “You appear happy.”

“Yes.” She dearly wanted to tell her why, but it was still so fresh, so wonderful that she decided to hold it to herself for a while longer, to simply embrace the amazement and glow of it. “I have every reason to be. The ball is quite the success.”

“Do you remember how hard I had to work to convince you that you could throw a smashing party?”

Winnie nodded, with the reminder of how she had fretted over the balls she’d given while Avendale was alive. “But I no longer have a fear of disappointing anyone. William Graves is most appreciative. He and I are going to meet later in the week to discuss the plans for the hospital.” She saw no reason to mention that she would also see him on the morrow. She had no desire to worry her friend, and in all likelihood nothing was wrong. Perhaps it was little more than being distracted arranging this affair. Yes, that was it, she was certain. She began planning it as soon as she arrived in London. She wanted everything to be perfect. She was devoted to it, and so her mind had been unable to focus on anything else.

“That’s wonderful,” Catherine said now about the hospital. “I’m so glad you have this project to occupy your time.”

“I rather enjoy it, meeting with the architects and builders. William Graves has given me leave to design it however I’d like. I’ve gone through tours of other hospitals, spoken with staff so I have a better understanding of all that is needed. I believe Dr. Graves will be pleased with my efforts.”

“I’m certain he will be. I’m quite impressed.” Reaching out, touching the petal of a lily sitting in a large blue vase, Catherine said, “Speaking of Graves, I saw you waltzing with him earlier.”

“You look as though something is afoot when you know he always dances with me. One dance. One dance only. I suppose it’s his way of thanking me.”

“You like him.”

“He’s very kind as you’re well aware.”

Catherine gave her a concerned smile. “Just take care, sweetling. His work comes first and always will. He’s dedicated to his patients.”

An hour ago, half an hour ago, Winnie would have simply nodded in agreement—but William Graves had kissed her. “I’m not expecting anything of him.” Well, perhaps she was just a little.

At that moment, the Earl of Claybourne appeared to claim his wife for a dance. Winnie had never expected Catherine to marry the Devil Earl, but she couldn’t deny that her friend was incredibly happy, and that the man obviously adored her.

The remainder of the evening, she visited with one person after another, ensured that food and champagne were readily available, thanked people for supporting her event, for ensuring that a first-rate hospital would be built. By the time midnight rolled around and everyone had left, she was exhausted from serving as hostess. She had to fairly drag herself up the stairs. But she couldn’t go to bed just yet.

Walking past her bedchamber, she carried on to one three doors down. Inside, she found her seven-year-old son sprawled over his bed, snoring lightly. The door to his governess’s apartments was closed as he was getting old enough not to be watched every moment. A lamp burned low on the table beside his bed. He’d never liked sleeping in the dark.

She approached as quietly as possible, then softly brushed his brown hair back from his brow. With his father’s death, he became the Duke of Avendale but she couldn’t quite bring herself to call him by his rightful title, perhaps because it still reminded her too much of her husband. To her, her son was Whit, the name that had become his while he held the courtesy title of the Earl of Whitson. She also believed
Whit
seemed more appropriate for a child. She suspected it wouldn’t be too long before he would begin wanting to be called by the name that had belonged to his father. But until then, she would have things her way.

She could only be grateful that his father had never taken a hand to him, that Whit had been too young to understand all that was happening within this household. And while she was certain that she would go to hell, she wouldn’t feel guilty about being glad that her husband had died. She knew it made her an awful person, but not nearly as dreadful as Avendale had been.

Leaning down, she pressed a light kiss to Whit’s forehead. “Sweet dreams, my love.”

She stilled as a fragrance assailed her. Caraway. It was a scent she associated with her husband, with pain, with humiliation. Her heart pounding, she spun around and searched the shadows. She saw nothing but the veiled darkness.

She was being ridiculous. Avendale was dead, but of late, the smell of him had begun seeping out of corners, out of little pockets, catching her unawares from time to time. She forbade the servants from having caraway seeds in the residence, from indulging in eating them. Someone must be disobeying the edict. She would have to take the matter up with the butler on the morrow.

She wanted no reminders of her husband, nothing that dredged up memories of her miserable existence while she had lived under his thumb.

With one last look at Whit, she silently left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Her heart was finally returning to its normal rhythm. Perhaps it was time to find another residence in London. This one contained far too many memories. Wherever she looked, she saw reminders of Avendale. It made little sense that she would begin to smell him, as it had been three years since his passing, but his habit of constantly chewing on caraway seeds had caused the fragrance to permeate everything. When the house was closed up for winter, perhaps the scent had been trapped in little pockets of air and was released as the house was opened back up. But why had she not noticed it here sooner? She couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to think about it anymore.

After arriving in her bedchamber, she rung for her lady’s maid. It seemed to take no time at all for Sarah to prepare her for bed. After the servant left, Winnie studied her reflection in the mirror at the dressing table. From a certain angle, it was almost impossible to tell that her nose had been broken. She flinched at the memory of the pain, the blood, the crack of cartilage giving way beneath the meaty fist. Her offense had been allowing the Devil Earl to attend their ball. Her husband had been furious.

She hadn’t run images of that horrid night through her mind in a good long while. She did hope she wouldn’t awaken in a cold sweat with her screams echoing through the room. Thoughts of that night so often brought on nightmares, even though years had passed. It was as though they were woven into the fabric of her soul.

Rising from the chair, she gave her reflection one last look before wandering over to the bed. As she crawled between the sheets, she had a momentary vision of William Graves waiting for her there, of his taking her into his arms, and kissing her with the same passion that he had in the garden. While she had every reason to dread the intimacy that would follow, she found herself anticipating it. She fully understood that not all men were as brutish as Avendale. She longed to glow with the happiness that Catherine did.

She didn’t bother to reach for the lamp, to extinguish the flame. Her son wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to sleep in the dark.

Rolling onto her side, she slipped a hand beneath the pillow—

Froze as her fingers touched something hard and cold.

No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

Straightening, she flung the pillow aside and gasped at the sight of the sapphire necklace winking up at her.

S
itting in a chair in front of the fireplace in his small private parlor, William Graves slowly sipped his whiskey. He’d known sleep wouldn’t come easily tonight, not after indulging himself. He could still taste Winnie on his tongue, could still feel the impression of her body pressed against his. Devil take him, but he was a fool to yearn for something he could never possess.

He generally called on his patients, except for those he saw in hospital. Winifred Buckland had been the first he’d nurtured back to health in his residence. It had been a strange thing, having her in his home. It had seemed not quite so empty, so lonely.

While she had been here, after caring for a patient, he anticipated returning to his residence. His first order of business was to look in on her—regardless of the hour. Sometimes he would watch as she endured a restless sleep that even laudanum couldn’t tame. He would hold her hand, one that was neither rough nor callused, and urge her to fight. When she had begun to recover, he had spent hours talking with her. Day by day, he observed as she grew stronger not only in body, but in spirit. He caught glimpses of the lady she might have been before her marriage, and he was intrigued by the certainty of her demeanor that began to rise to the fore. It was then that she started discussing her plans to build a hospital as a way to repay him for his kindness. He loved the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke of different aspects she planned to include. Her excitement was contagious, and for the first time in his life, he’d wondered if he had punished himself enough, if he were finally deserving of love.