Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

The two men, their faces flushed with laughter, turned toward her.

“Tina, we have a visitor!” Charles cried with his usual exuberance and completely unnecessarily. “Horace is here!”

Horace Gilfoyle shrugged his broad shoulders as Tina came toward him. Her hand was swallowed by his larger hand, and a whispering, treacherous thought told her it was not quite as overwhelming a sensation as it had been this morning when her hand was taken by Richard Eversham.

She dismissed the thought. She had known Horace forever, and they would make the ideal couple. His blond hair was a perfect contrast to her own dark tresses, and his tall, compact body and broad shoulders were just right for her smaller stature and soft curves. The thought of marrying anyone else was unthinkable. Ridiculous. Thank goodness she’d grasped her courage in both hands and approached Mr. Eversham.

And she had no doubt she had chosen the right man to teach her all she needed to know to go husband hunting. Horace was fond of her—in fact she could tell he was by the smile that was in his eyes right now as he gazed down at her—but that wasn’t enough. He had to love her passionately, enough to give up his free-and-easy ways and marry her.

Tina slipped off her gloves. “I must go and freshen up. I’ll be down in a minute. Will you stay for tea, Horace?”

“Of course he will!” said the irrepressible Charles. “Or maybe a whiskey?”

Horace smiled at Tina’s frown. “Tea would be delightful. Although I must be on my way soon. I have an appointment I mustn’t miss.”

“Will you ring then, Charles? I’ll be down shortly.”

Charles pulled the bell rope, and Tina gave Horace a little smile before she turned away.

Horace watched her leave, thinking she was becoming a fine figure of a woman. No longer the little girl he used to tease. He was surprised at her curves, nicely on display in her blue silk gown. Why hadn’t he noticed them before? Probably because she’d always been like a sister to him. If things were different, he might have thought about bedding her. As it was, she’d be saving her virtue for a suitable husband. The Smythes were very right and proper about things like that—something Horace found secretly amusing.

Maybe when she was married he might think of a dalliance with her. She’d be more worldly then and probably bored with her husband, up for some lustful dalliance with an old friend. Horace had always found married women far more grateful for one’s efforts.

“Maria?”

A maid in her early thirties, the same height as Tina but considerably more buxom, turned from tidying the room. “Yes, miss.”

“Master Charles and Lord Horace are taking tea in the drawing room. Help me with my hair, will you, before I join them?”

She sat at her dressing table and Maria removed her bonnet and began to slip the pins from her long ebony hair.

“Do you know when my parents will be back, Maria?”

Maria hid a smile. “Not for some time, miss,” she answered. “Lady Carol said they would be back for dinner, but cook is to keep it warm if they are late and not to keep you and Master Charles waiting.”

She knew her mistress was hoping they wouldn’t be back too soon. When they were younger, Miss Tina and Master Charles had always found some mischief or other to get into when their mother and father were busy. And Lord Horace had been their companion a good many times in that mischief. Of course, Miss Tina thought herself far too grown-up now for childish mischief although she still enjoyed the company of both her brother and Lord Horace. And lately, Maria had begun to realize that Miss Tina’s interest in Lord Horace was changing. Deepening. Turning toward thoughts of marriage.

And that had Maria worried. Despite his outwardly affable and easygoing nature, Lord Horace reminded her of a man she’d known once, who had a darker side when he was opposed. Miss Tina was a strong-willed young woman with a great zest for life. She needed a companion to complement her rather than go head-to-head with her, as she feared would be the case with Lord Horace.

And then there was the time when Lord Horace had found Maria alone in a corridor and attempted to touch her in places no gentleman should touch. He had been rather drunk, and Maria had escaped without harm, but she’d never forgotten the angry twist to his mouth and the ugly look in his eyes when he’d been thwarted.

Maria had traveled from Spain to England as a very young girl, and yet she had vivid memories of the home she’d left behind. The first position she had held in England was as a scullery maid in a big house in the country. She considered herself very fortunate to have had the opportunity to train

as a lady’s maid, but that lady was now long dead, and Maria had been with Tina’s family for over ten years, first looking after Lady Carol, Tina’s mother, and now Tina herself. Maria was comfortable here, protective of her young mistress, and she loved being in London although she did still long for her childhood home.

Perhaps, she mused, if Miss Tina married, she would travel—perhaps even to Spain— and Maria would travel with her. But not to Lord Horace, she decided firmly. No, not him.

“There. All done, miss,” Maria exclaimed.

Tina gave a final glance at her reflection and hurried to the staircase, stopping there to catch her breath before she walked sedately down to the drawing room. The tea had already arrived, and Tina poured for them all. She knew very well how Horace liked his tea and made sure to add one lump of sugar with oodles of milk.

“So where have you been today, Tina?” asked Horace as he sipped his tea with evident enjoyment.

“Just visiting a friend.” Tina gave her prepared answer. “An old school friend,” she added firmly.

She’d decided on the old-school-friend story on her way home. She knew that her brother would not be particularly interested in her activities, but if her parents were at home, they would have asked questions. If they knew where she’d really been . . . well, it was just best if they didn’t. Tina told herself she wasn’t lying, not exactly, just keeping her own counsel. Mr. Eversham was a means to an end, and once she and Horace were wed her parents would be too ecstatic to care about the twists and turns of just how it had all come about.

Now, she watched Horace furtively, trying to imagine them together in their own house. She’d be curled up by the fire with a book, while Horace sat nearby in his armchair, reading aloud to her snippets of daily news from the newspaper. It was a very cozy scene, but for some reason just as she had it fixed in her mind the man in the armchair changed, became more muscular, his hair darker, his eyes with a warm, teasing look that brought a flush to her cheeks.