Sin With a Scoundrel (The Husband Hunters Club 4)

“You won’t tell, will you, Maria?”

Maria lost her starchy attitude and sighed. “No, miss.”

“Then no one else will ever know.”

“Take care, Miss Tina. Mr. Eversham may not be quite as he seems.”

Tina sat up. “Of course he is as he seems. He’s perfect. I wonder if Charles has proposed to Anne yet. Wouldn’t that be wonderful! Unless her parents refuse the banns when they find out just how badly in debt we are.”

Maria gave her a doubtful look. “Are you in debt, miss?”

Tina grimaced. “Yes, we are. Surely you’ve noticed? You must have, all the darning and patching you’ve been doing lately. And all those pigs’ trotters for supper, ugh. Can you marry Archie immediately? At least then we won’t have to give you notice, Maria, when we get home. If we have a home.”

Maria had paled. “It is that bad, miss? I knew . . . that is, I was aware, of course, but not how serious it had become.”

“Now you see why I am a little reckless suddenly, Maria. I had hoped to marry Horace and save us all, but that has gone terribly wrong, so I have decided to enjoy myself as much as I can before I have to take some dreadful position as a companion or a governess. I suppose my education at Miss Debenham’s will help with that. Someone will snap me up, you wait and see.”

Even to herself, she sounded breathless and overwrought.

“If they find out about last night, miss, no one will snap you up.”

Tina waved a hand. “Nonsense. That will never come out. You wait and see, Maria, all will be well.”

Maria wished she shared her young mistress’s optimism. She’d been worried about Tina’s plans to marry Horace, knowing what sort of man he was, but now those worries seemed minor i

n comparison. Richard Eversham! According to Archie he was a dangerous man who led a dangerous life. She could not help but fret for any woman who fell under his spell. Perfect, indeed!

Miss Tina must be told, but telling her would mean breaking her promise to Archie. Maria was in a bind.

Archie would forgive her, of course he would, especially after last night. Wouldn’t he?

Miss Tina’s life was at stake here, and Maria had cared for the girl for too long to see her hurt because of something she failed to do. She could never live with herself if anything happened to her young mistress.

Richard had hoped to seek out Tina, but he found himself busy with the statements Will had taken from the shooters, as well as soothing Sir Henry’s frustration at their lack of progress.

At one point he happened to glance out of the window and saw her in the garden. She was wearing a dark blue muslin dress and a straw hat with a matching ribbon. She also carried a parasol to protect her skin, although—and Richard smiled to himself—he’d detected a hint of gold to her complexion last night, so perhaps the parasol wasn’t working very well.

His smile faded.

She was walking with her brother and Anne Burgess, but Gilfoyle was lurking behind them.

He kept thinking it was madness to consider marrying her—even if she’d have him—not before he’d found Anthony’s killer and kept his promise to his dead brother. But he couldn’t let her go. What if Gilfoyle got hold of her, promised her his fortune to help her family? She’d feel obliged to agree. No, he mustn’t let that happen. And he might have the Captain in his grasp today. Tomorrow? But then again he’d been hoping that for two years now. How long would Tina wait for him? She was young, beautiful, and he couldn’t expect her to believe in him and be patient forever.

And speaking of being patient . . . Richard wondered how long he could hold back from the ultimate act of physical pleasure. Last night had been exceptional, even for a man as experienced as he, but because of that experience he knew his limitations. One night he would lose control, and then . . . For her sake, he couldn’t risk the scandal of a pregnancy. He would have to marry her and set aside his promise.

The promise that had meant so much to him, that had directed the course of his life for two years.

Anthony’s face rose before him as he’d last seen it, but Richard dismissed it with a shake of his head and turned back into the room, where Will and Sir Henry were frowning over a mass of papers spread across the latter’s desk.

“I can’t believe it,” Sir Henry growled. He’d thrown a brightly colored robe over his night attire, but his skin was yellowish, his cheeks appeared sunken from his brush with death, and his mustache was untrimmed. The wound on his head was covered by a thick bandage, which only added to his disreputable appearance.

“I know Branson is a miserable old bugger, but would he attempt to shoot me? I can’t believe it.”

“He’s the main suspect,” Will said stubbornly. “I think we need to talk to him again.”

Sir Henry continued to shake his head in disbelief.

“What about Little or Gilfoyle?” Richard interrupted. “Did you find anything in either of their stories to make you doubt their word?”