The Scoundrel’s Seduction Page 7

  He was happy for both his brothers who’d found contentment and peace in their marriages. He didn’t hope for the same, knew that for him, some things were simply not in the cards. He’d tried twice and failed twice, and he couldn’t—wouldn’t—risk doing it all over again. He couldn’t jeopardize another woman’s safety, another woman’s life.

  For some reason, his thoughts turned to Lady Dunthorpe.

  And for some reason, despite all the painful contemplations he’d just been having, his body grew hard at the thought of her.

  For God’s sake! This was not the time or place to be thinking about the woman. He’d come here to get away, and he intended to do just that.

  “Let’s all sit down,” Sarah said to the room at large. Everyone sat save Sam, who took his regular place standing near the window. Sarah smiled at him indulgently. “Have you eaten?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good. I have a luncheon all planned for us.”

  Trent frowned. “Do you think it is wise to begin planning luncheons so soon after giving birth?”

  She arched her brows. “I feel wonderful. In any case, I have never heard of a woman keeling over three weeks after the birth of her baby because she planned—not even cooked, mind you—a meal for her family! For goodness’ sake, Simon, I do believe having children and feeding their families was what women were created to do.”

  “Still …”

  Luke clapped him on the back. “You can stop fretting now, old man. The babe’s been born, and he and his mother are fat and strong and healthy as a pair of oxen.”

  Sarah blushed, and Trent scowled at Luke. “Are you insulting my wife?”

  “On the contrary,” Luke said smoothly. “I am complimenting her health. And the lad’s, too—what was he, Trent, three-quarters of a stone?”

  “He was.”

  Sarah grimaced, clearly remembering the pain of the birth. Sam glanced again at the child, who was now being held by Esme. She cooed softly at him, and he gazed with fascination into her face. Sam hadn’t thought the child was that large—he seemed miniature, even for an infant—but of course, he was no expert on babies.

  Luke shrugged. “There it is, then. Proof. He’s a little ox.”

  A maid brought in refreshments, and they all settled in for several hours of pleasant conversation. Just after noon, they shared a delicious but simple luncheon consisting of bread, sliced meats and cheeses, with sweet oranges for dessert.

  After they finished eating, Mark and Theo had an engagement to attend with a friend from Cambridge. After they left, the ladies retired upstairs. They didn’t say so, but Sam assumed Sarah needed to feed her infant—he didn’t think she’d hired a nurse to perform that task—and of course she would not do so in the presence of the gentlemen.

  As soon as the women departed, Trent asked if Sam and Luke wanted to share a bottle of brandy—one of the few remaining bottles the old duke had imported from France before the war.

  Sam said he’d have some, but Luke declined.

  When Sam and Trent turned to him with raised brows, he shrugged. “I am considering total abstinence from all unnatural forms of intoxication.”

  Both Sam’s and Trent’s jaws dropped.

  “What? It’s not so surprising, is it? You know I am no longer the pleasure seeker I once was.” Luke grinned. “Or, at least, I don’t leave my house to seek pleasure. I can find all the pleasure I require right at home.”

  Trent steered the conversation away from Luke’s apparent interest in seeking pleasure from his wife. “Abandoning drink altogether, Luke? That’s rather puritanical of you.”

  Luke’s lips twisted. “Ah, brother mine. I am not and never will be puritanical. You may trust me on that.” He shrugged. “I just find … well, that I sleep more peacefully when my blood has been cleansed of intoxicating substances.”

  “Well, then.” Trent sounded amused. “What can I get you instead? More tea? Coffee? Chocolate? Water?”

  “Tea, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’ll ring for some right away.”

  A few minutes later, Sam stood back at the window, rotating a glass of brandy in his hands. He rarely sat in the company of others because he was generally more comfortable standing, preferably near a means of escape, even when logically he knew escape wouldn’t be necessary. He supposed this was due to long-ingrained habit that had begun in his military days. His family was used to it and no longer commented on this oddity of his.

  “So what do you make of this business with the Viscount Dunthorpe?” Trent asked, sitting on the sofa and nursing his own glass of brandy.

  Every muscle in Sam’s body went tight.

  “What of it?” Luke asked disinterestedly.

  “He was murdered. Hadn’t you heard?”

  “No, I hadn’t. You know me. I’m not much of one for keeping up with everyone’s comings and goings.”

  “Well, this ‘going’ was somewhat final,” Trent said dryly.

  “What happened?” Luke asked.

  Trent glanced at Sam. “You heard about it, I suppose.”

  “I did,” Sam said mildly.

  Trent turned back to Luke. “He was murdered—shot in the heart in his own drawing room. His butler was a witness—says that it was a tall, dark-haired Frenchman that did him in.” He gave a low laugh. “Actually, the description and the sketches I’ve seen make out the man to be rather similar in appearance to you, Sam.”

  Sam forced his brows upward and kept his voice mild. “Do they?”

  Damn. Richards really had got a good look at him. Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Except, as soon as this business with Lady Dunthorpe was finished, he really, really needed to leave Town.

  “They do.” Trent took a long swallow of brandy. “And they say his wife—who happens to be French—was part of the scheme. What do you make of it?”

  “I’m not sure,” Sam said carefully. “But I can’t imagine Lady Dunthorpe could have been involved.”

  “She was seen with the Frenchman as they left the premises.”

  “My guess?” Sam said. “She was kidnapped.”

  “You’re probably right. I’ve met her several times, and she never struck me as capable of such an act.” Trent frowned until creases lined his forehead. “I do feel like there’s something not quite right about it all. Why would a Frenchman murder Dunthorpe? It’s true he’s an English hero, but as a lawmaker, he’s generous toward the French. Sometimes I think his proposed legislations will be of more benefit to Napoleon’s country than ours. There are far more insidious targets for the French.”

  “But the common people haven’t read that deeply into his proposals or his politics, have they?”

  “No. Sometimes I think I am the only one who has.”

  Sam gave his brother a considering look. Trent had never been a fool. Sam turned to Luke. “What do you make of it?”

  “Never liked the man. He’s—he was—a bastard. Good riddance.”

  Sam nodded. Just like Luke to get right to the crux of the matter. “So perhaps we should not question who did away with him.”

  “Perhaps not,” Trent said. “Still … something about it …”

  “There are some things in life best left unknown,” Sam said in a low voice.

  “Very true. Very true.” Luke raised his teacup in salute, and Sam had the distinct feeling he was talking more about his own secrets than the assassination of Dunthorpe.

  “Well, I suppose the biggest concern is that this large Frenchman will go on a murdering rampage of all the aristocrats in London,” Trent said. “But that seems farfetched.”

  “No,” Sam said flatly. “That won’t happen.”

  “You seem very sure about that,” Luke said.

  “I am.” With those two words, he closed the subject. Trent and Luke knew him well enough to understand that it was over, but Trent gave him a long, speculative look before he rose to pour himself another glass of brandy.

  Hi
s family knew little about what he did. They all knew the basic fact—that he was employed in various missions for the Crown, but they had given up asking him for details beyond that long ago. Still, Sam always had believed that Trent knew a lot more than he claimed to know.

  It was good Sam trusted his brother with his life, and he knew the feeling was mutual. Whatever Trent knew, he’d keep to himself.

  “How long will you be in Town?” Luke asked him after a few moments of contemplative silence had passed.

  He gave his brother a bemused look before answering. It wasn’t like Luke to make small talk or to care about such things as Sam’s schedule.

  He supposed he’d need to eventually become accustomed to both his newly married brothers’ changes in demeanor.

  “I’m not sure …” He spoke slowly, thinking yet again of Lady Dunthorpe. He hoped to God she was playing an innocent game of whist with Carter and not causing trouble.

  Once he’d passed Lady Dunthorpe along to whoever would deal with her next, he’d leave Town. That was the pattern. The Dunthorpe mission had been long and involved—in the interests of protecting Sam’s identity in Town, Adams would send him out of London for the next assignment.

  “But I’ll probably need to leave Town by the end of the month,” he finished.

  “Eh,” Luke said dismissively. “I think you should retire.”

  Sam just raised a brow. There was no point in answering. There was no answer. He couldn’t explain to Luke that the position he was in didn’t allow for “retirement.” It wasn’t like a military commission he could sell and be done with.

  Trent chuckled. “I can’t imagine you ever leaving your occupation. What would you do with yourself if you did?”

  “Good point,” Sam said. It was true. He didn’t have friends. He didn’t enjoy the usual pursuits of London gentlemen. And what would he do in the country? Beyond his brothers and sister, who were creating their own families now, he knew no one. He would rot away in the country, alone and without purpose. He knew exactly what that would be like—after Charlotte had died, he’d been shot and had returned to England to recover. Stuck at Trent’s seat, Ironwood Park, without purpose or meaning. He’d felt like he’d been withering away. It had been the worst year of his life. And then Adams had come to him, given him a reason to live again.

  Now he had a purpose.

  He needed to change the subject. He turned to Trent. “When do Mark and Theo intend to head north to look for our mother?”

  “In a few days,” Trent said with a frown. “Esme has asked to accompany them.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  “She’s been in London for months and is pleading exhaustion with Town.”

  “I can’t blame her for that,” Luke said. “London is damnably exhausting.”

  “She also wants a hand in finding our mother, I think.”

  Sam folded his arms across his chest and mulled the idea over. “Well, she’ll bring her maid, of course, and she’ll be with her brothers, who will watch over her.”

  “I know,” Trent said, but there was still doubt in his voice. “I suppose she’s just been with me so long, I consider her my responsibility. And she and Sarah are very close. Sarah looks out for her.”

  “Esme tends to cling to people sometimes,” Sam said. “Maybe it’d be best for her to get away for a while.”

  “Right,” Trent said. Still, he didn’t sound convinced.

  “I don’t believe they’ll encounter any threats, Trent. We’ve established that our mother was not kidnapped. She went willingly with this gypsy, Steven Lowell. I don’t believe he’s dangerous.”

  Trent sighed. “You’re right. He’s not. By all accounts, he’s a quiet sort. Leaves all the ostentation to the players he hires for his troupe. He’s said to be soft-spoken and personable but also a shrewd negotiator.”

  They were all silent for a minute. Thoughts of Lady Dunthorpe, which had been nudging at Sam’s mind all afternoon, broke free. He pushed off from the wall. “I should go.”

  “Already?” Trent asked.

  “Yes. I have … duties to attend to.”

  Both his brothers gave him odd looks. But of course they knew better than to question him.

  Trent rose from his seat on the sofa, setting his brandy tumbler aside as he did so. “You’ll let us know when and if you leave Town?”

  “If I can.”

  “Good enough. Try to visit again before you go.”

  Sam looked at Luke. “Will you be remaining in London this spring?”

  Luke slanted a glance at Trent. “If Trent and the duchess are. Emma wants to stay close to help with her new nephew.”

  Sam raised a brow. Luke had openly avoided Trent in the past, though he’d also shown up in drunken stupors at Trent’s doorstep more than once. Sam had always felt that Luke and Trent had secretly desired to have a closer relationship but hadn’t known how. Maybe their wives were helping them to pave the way.

  In any case, it would be good to know where Luke was this spring. Luke had spent the past several years moving about aimlessly, but Emma was definitely a grounding influence. They were happy together, and that gave Sam a feeling of deep satisfaction. Luke had been through too much pain and deserved the happiness he’d finally found.

  He said his farewells and left his brothers. When the door of Trent House closed behind him, a gaping emptiness seemed to yawn in his soul.

  His siblings had always done their best to bring him in to the Hawkins family circle, but the knowledge that he was truly the outsider was deeply ingrained within him. In their presence, he felt like he was an integral part of the House of Trent. But when he left them, the realization always struck him that he was truly alone. That he always would be.

  He squelched the empty feeling, as he always did, and thoughts of Lady Dunthorpe came rushing in to fill the void.

  Lady Dunthorpe. She made him feel … different. Like no one ever had. She’d made him smile more in the past few days than he had in the past several years combined.

  He wanted—needed—to see her. He told himself it was to ensure she was all right and hadn’t caused any problems with Carter and Laurent.

  But he knew it was more than that.

  He found himself pushing his horse, frustrated by the usual London traffic. By the time he dismounted in the mews behind the safe house, his heart was pounding in anticipation. He took the horse into the stable and brushed it down quickly.

  A few minutes later, he hurried in through the back door. The house was quiet in the waning afternoon light. He paused a few steps inside, then called out sharply, “Carter?”

  Silence and then, “We’re here!” from down the corridor. The drawing room.

  Sam released a long breath and with it a great deal of the tension that had been building within him all day.

  He shut the back door and locked it securely, then strode to the drawing room.

  Laurent and Lady Dunthorpe were bent over a half-played game of chess when he entered. Judging by the positions of the remaining pieces on the board, the two of them were evenly matched.

  Carter looked up over his newspaper. “Welcome home.”

  Laurent looked over his shoulder. “Gad, Hawk. You look like you’ve just run all the way from Calais.”

  Sam gave him a wry look. “Unfortunately, I cannot walk on water.”

  Laurent’s eyes went wide. “No! I always thought you could!”

  Carter chuckled, and Sam rolled his eyes heavenward. Laurent was mature for a lad of fifteen—or almost sixteen, as he always reminded Sam—but sometimes he did act his age.

  He lowered his gaze to Lady Dunthorpe. “How was your afternoon?”

  “Most satisfactory.” Her lips were flat but something—humor, perhaps—sparkled in her eyes. “Laurent and Carter are excellent jailors.”

  Laurent clutched his chest. “A compliment? Did I just receive a compliment from our esteemed guest?”

  “If being called a jailor is a complime
nt,” Sam told him.

  Laurent dropped his hand and slanted him a glance over his shoulder. “You are adept at ruining a mood, aren’t you?”

  “Always,” Sam told him. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Lady Dunthorpe. And as he gazed at her, something warm and sweet flushed through him.

  The sensation startled him, threw him off kilter. And he knew, without a doubt, that this woman had insinuated herself into a place inside him where he’d never allowed anyone. Not even Marianne. Not even Charlotte.

  He didn’t want this, but he had no idea how to stop it. How to control it. How to reconstruct those shields to keep her out.

  He had to try.

  * * *

  Hawk was home. She’d waited for him all day, growing more worried as the hours had ticked by. Where had he gone? What was he doing? Would he be back? Each time she’d asked Laurent and Carter, they’d given her a nonanswer or changed the subject or tried in some other way to distract her. It was highly frustrating.

  But then he walked into the room, and she’d been glad to see him. So glad, her heart had soared.

  It had soared.

  She must be mad. Or an idiot. Perhaps both.

  There was comfort now in listening to these three men speak to one another. There was an easiness about them, a camaraderie that she’d never really witnessed among men before. These three trusted one another. The two older men protected and mentored Laurent, and he clearly worshipped them both.

  She moved her bishop. “Check,” she told Laurent.

  “Ah, I see how it is,” he said. “Sidetrack the lad, then take advantage.”

  “Oh, so now you’re a lad?” Carter asked.

  “When it suits me,” he said sternly. “But only then.” He moved deftly out of check.

  She beat Laurent in chess, though it took another quarter of an hour. Then she played Hawk, who, after some browbeating, grudgingly took the seat across from her. It hadn’t taken her long to realize the man rarely sat, and when he did, he fidgeted nonstop. This time, however, his restlessness seemed somewhat contained, and within a matter of minutes, he beat her handily.