Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

“I don’t have time to worry about Archie,” said Maria sharply.

“I envy you, Maria,” Tina said dreamily. “You can marry whomever you want to, fall in love with whomever you want to. You don’t have to worry about anything except your own wishes.”

Maria smiled. “I am not quite as free and easy as you seem to think, Miss Tina. If I marry, I must find a man who will not take my savings and leave me without my shoes, or will not hit me when he has been drinking, or will not break my heart and then run off with another woman.”

“But at least you can marry a man you want to marry, even if you make a mistake. You do not have to take into account family connections and the critical eyes of society, and wealth and lineage, and . . .” She ran out of breath and shook her head, making Maria cluck her tongue as a curl bounced free.

“I think you are seeing the life of a servant through rose-colored glasses, miss. And who said I intended to marry anyone? Come, you are ready to go down to dinner. You should put aside all your cares for this evening and enjoy yourself.”

Tina smiled as she turned. “I will, Maria. And you must promise to enjoy yourself, too.”

Maria nodded decisively. “I will, miss, so I will.”

Chapter 19

After his third glance toward the door, Richard told himself not to be so stupid. He’d warned himself about getting emotionally involved; obviously, he thought wryly, he hadn’t been listening. All the same, his reaction was surprising. What was it about this girl that made him feel so unlike himself? He thought about her more every day, and the taste he’d had, far from satisfying his desires, only made him want her more.

He chatted with Sir Henry and Will Jackson and Sir Henry’s neighbor, Mr. Branson, waiting for her to appear, knowing that until she did, he couldn’t think clearly. The glimpse he’d had of her earlier in the salon, the tantalizing smile she’d given him, had made him useless for work.

And then she was there. She wore a yellow dress that set off her dark hair and pale skin, and her beauty took his breath away. For an all-too-brief moment her eyes had met his, her expression startled, and then she’d turned away.

It had occurred to him that this frisson between them might be as unnerving to her as it was to him, and now he was certain. And it was damned inconvenient! She was planning to marry Gilfoyle. Planning to kiss Gilfoyle, touch him, let him touch her. Let him have her in the most intimate of ways . . .

Richard grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing tray and swallowed it almost savagely. His hand was shaking, and he gripped the stem so hard he nearly broke it. This was utterly ridiculous. He must calm himself, he must put Tina out of his mind.

But if he was distracted, then so was Sir Henry, who kept glancing toward his wife. Lady Isabelle’s voice rose above the chatter of their guests, and she flittered about, as if unable to keep still for even a moment. Once he beckoned a servant and murmured in his ear, and the servant scurried to her side to convey the message. Isabelle lifted her head, her smile mechanical, and waved her hand at her husband.

“I think we are ready to go in to dinner,” he said to Richard. “Come along. And if my wife has put you next to my cousin Edith, then you have my sincere sympathy.”

But thankfully Cousin Edith had been reserved for Will Jackson, and Richard was seated beside Tina’s red-haired friend Margaret, a serious young woman, although he did his best to make her smile, and on her other side was Mr. Branson, a rather surly fellow. Tina was farther down the table, near Lady Isabelle, who appeared to have taken a great liking to the younger woman. Gilfoyle was there, too, and Richard struggled not to glare at the man as he chatted and laughed his way through the meal. As if, Richard thought darkly, he expected everyone to love him as much as he loved himself.

And yet he had to wonder if that was the real Lord Horace. It could just be an act. Perhaps the jolly lord was a role he played, to disguise the sinister truth.

That was one of the things Richard had come to Arlington Hall to find out.

“Enjoying your stay?” It was Branson, finally doing the polite with Margaret Allsop. “Nice spot this. My family owned it once—it was a working farm then—but prices dropped after the war, and we had to sell it off. Arlington got a bargain.”

Margaret murmured something.

Branson responded a little less gloomily, and the conversation shifted to the weather, always a safe topic, thought Richard, his attention elsewhere.

Tina was laughing at something Gilfoyle had said, and now she put her hand on his arm. The minx! She was using the tricks he’d taught her. Well, of course she was. That was the whole point of his expert training, was it not?

It wasn’t Tina’s fault the idea no longer appealed to him—if it ever had.

His restless gaze slid over Will Jackson, the poor fellow desperately attempting to extract himself from Cousin Edith’s endless discourse on birds. She told anyone who would listen, and even those who wouldn’t, that she was a keen ornithologist. It was her only topic of conversation. Richard remembered thinking before about Will as a possible partner for Tina. He was a good man, honest and true, and he had some money of his own. Not the fortune that Gilfoyle had, of course, but adequate. Tina would be much better off with Will than Horace, and although Richard had previously found fault with his friend, he knew whom he’d prefer to marry Tina if it came to it.

Should he point her in that direction?

He shifted restlessly in his chair.

It would be the gentlemanly thing to do, and yet Richard wasn’t feeling particularly gentlemanly tonight. He didn’t want Tina to marry Gilfoyle or Will. He didn’t want her to marry anyone. He wanted her unmarried and free, available to him whenever he wanted her. He missed her mouth, the warm sighs she gave when he held her in his arms, he missed the wonderful softness of her body beneath his hands.

The stark truth was he wanted her all for himself.

Lady Isabelle had arranged some entertainment for the evening, but before it could begin all the men must finish their cigars and brandy and join the women in the drawing room. Sir Henry was lingering over his after-dinner tipple with several of his cronies. Tina had found herself a seat near an open window, away from the chatter—and Horace, who seemed particularly irritating tonight—when Lady Isabelle found her.

“Lord Horace seems rather taken with you, Tina,” she said at once, arranging the folds of her pale blue silk as she sat down.