Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

Richard agreed, but as he explained to his superior, they couldn’t take any chances.

Downstairs again, Richard seemed to have caught Sir Henry’s restlessness. He wandered about, and eventually found himself in the supper room. There was Tina and her brother, enjoying themselves, laughing. He liked watching Tina laugh.

She has the most exquisite mouth, he thought.

He wanted to walk over and kiss her there and then. In front of everyone. Claim her so that no other male in the room could have her. He leaned against the wall and wished he could have a brandy, but he’d denied himself any drink until later tonight. For now he needed his wits about him.

How in God’s name was he going to come to her room and keep his hands off her? Was he deceiving himself even imagining he could? He’d be better staying away; he could make some excuse.

Then she looked over and caught him watching. She smiled, and he knew that nothing was going to stop him coming to her tonight, no matter the risks he was taking. It was fate or destiny or whatever you wanted to call it.

It was simply meant to be.

Chapter 25

Tina sat on the window seat in her room, drinking in the perfumed night air. There was a sliver of moon hanging low in the sky, reflected in the ripples of the river. She’d been watching it move slowly against the arc of velvet darkness and knew that soon it would slip below the horizon, leaving her alone.

It was very late now, and he still hadn’t come.

Perhaps he’d had second thoughts? Well she couldn’t blame him for that, but she would forever regret the loss of their one night together. Because she knew he wasn’t coming to her to talk, things had gone too far for talking, and if he did come, then there would be no going back.

Tina wrapped her robe more

closely about her and tried not to shiver. Maria had removed Tina’s ball gown and helped her into her nightgown with the darned sleeve, and now she wondered if she would ever wear the ball gown again or whether it would become a ghost in the attic, full of lavender bags and memories.

Or more likely it would be sold to pay some outstanding bill.

Maria had brushed and braided her hair before leaving her to sleep—as she thought. Tina glanced over at the comfortable bed, considered retiring, but didn’t move. She knew she wouldn’t sleep. The day had been a long and exhausting one, but excitement hummed through her, tingling over her skin, making her nerves jump. Without her corset and underwear, she felt free, her body unrestrained by convention, and with the shedding of her grand clothing had come a similar shedding of her doubts about Richard.

Where was he? Please come, please . . .

She wriggled against the cushions on the window seat, trying to get comfortable, and then froze.

There was someone out there.

A light flickered in the darkness, darting like a firefly among the shrubs of the garden. Tina watched it, leaning forward intently. Surely it was the lighted tip of a cigar? One of the gentlemen enjoying the night air, that must be it.

With a soft release of breath, she relaxed and leaned back. And nearly let out a scream.

A hand had closed over the nape of her neck. Warm and strong, it held her as she tried to turn, and then with a mere whisper of sound he stepped even closer, his thighs hard against her back.

“Richard?” she sounded uncertain as it occurred to her it might not be him.

“Who else were you expecting?” His soft teasing caused her to slump with relief. Gently his fingers caressed her nape, and she felt as if she might melt like butter.

“You took so long,” she said, and then silently reprimanded herself for giving herself away.

“I had a great deal to do.”

“What did you have to do?”

He began to release her braid, fingers raking out her hair until it lay in soft, dark tresses over her back and shoulders. “I cleared the ballroom, and then I tidied the supper room and washed up the crystal and crockery, but Lady Isabelle said the glasses weren’t clean enough so I did it again, and—”

“Richard,” she said between laughter and irritation.

“What? Don’t you believe me, Miss Smythe?”

She tilted back her head, and this time he let her. He was without his waistcoat or jacket, the buttons of his shirt undone at his throat, his hair rumpled. Rather like he’d been the first time she had seen him.