Page 21 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Thorne settled once more beside the tub with a soft chuckle. “Some might be glad at the sight. A few grannies have been after me to have a wife to fuss over for years.”
“Have they?” she murmured, reaching for the soap. She drew it up her arm and his eyes followed the sight. Her skin was soft there, on the inside of her elbow. His lips recalled the memory of it well. “And what did you tell them?”
Thorne’s smile was small. “Told them I ruined my chances with her.”
What else could he tell her? That he desired no one else? No, there hadn’t been another woman. There never would be another woman. It was just her.
Always her.
Thorne couldn’t help but notice how her grip tightened on the soap. “And what did the grannies advise?”
He leaned against the tub and propped his chin in a hand. “Told me to find a new woman or learn how to grovel.”
Alex’s flattened her lips. “You had four years to learn, and you know my address. Did you require further lessons or did you need help finding another rich woman to swindle?”
How could he tell her that he had stood in front of her door, dozens of times over the years, and every word in his fucking vocabulary became inadequate?Sorrywasn’t good enough. Flowers? Pathetic. Every apology he rehearsed made up for nothing.
Worse: when he’d gone by the Earl of Kent’s residence in St. James’s and seen her, she always seemed content, safe, comfortable. Her work made her successful in her own right. What need did this woman have for him? What purpose would he serve in her life, but as a reminder of her father’s betrayal?
And so he had gone back to the Brimstone—this building her fortune had built—and stopped scheming. What made him think he could possibly deserve her?
Thorne met her gaze. “Did you want me on your doorstep, Alex? Should I have gone on my knees and apologized? Would that have been enough after what I did?”
“Does it matter? On your knees or on your feet, you didn’t even try.” Alex gave a dry laugh. “Perhaps it wouldn’t have mattered. You are not Lord Locke. The man at my door apologizing would have been a stranger to me.”
The knife twisted. “Then I ought to have introduced myself. I am Nicholas Thorne. And I’m so fucking sorry.”
Alex shut her eyes hard. “The man who came into my bedchamber—do you know what he called me while he pointed the pistol at my head?”
“What?” Thorne asked, dreading the answer.
“Thorne’s wife. I didn’t ask for that name, Nick. I didn’t ask for any of this. Being foolish enough to believe a man’s lies should not come with a death sentence.” She made some soft noise. “Just leave the brandy and get out, Nick. I can’t stand the sight of you.”
Chapter 7
Stratfield Saye, Hampshire. Four years ago.
Alexandra fanned herself with her hat as she strolled along the country path.
It was a hot afternoon in Stratfield Saye. The sky was the lovely, bright blue of a robin’s egg, with no clouds to diminish the sun’s warmth. She ought to have been at home, shaded in the gazebo at Roseburn, but the village matriarchs tasked Alexandra with delivering a basket to the Stone family, who lived at the other end of Fair Oak Green.
By the time Alexandra finished her duty and reached her father’s lands, the walking dress she’d set out in no longer matched the weather. The feathers on her stylish hat drooped. It didn’t help that she was waving it desperately in front of her face to create a scant breeze.
She trudged up the path toward Stratfield Lake, at the south end of Roseburn’s property. At the edge of the water, Alexandra paused to admire the view. The lake stretched for acres into the woodland, and from her vantage seemed almost as vast as a sea. Alexandra and her brothers swam there as children, but she had not visited in years. The water glistened in the bright afternoon sun, as if in invitation.
Alexandra lowered her hat. No one was about. If she took a swim, who would see her? Who would—
Boots crunched along the path behind her. Alexandra was surprised to see Nicholas Spencer strolling down the trail as if he didn’t mind the heat. His jacket was tossed over a shoulder and his white lawn shirt was open at the collar. Alexandra fixated on the golden skin bared at his throat, for she had never seen a man so . . . disrobed. Why, he wasn’t even wearing a hat.
“Good afternoon,” Alexandra said, hoping she had imagined the squeak to her voice. Her heart was somewhere near her throat. “Fine weather today, isn’t it?”
If Nick noticed her gawking at him like a complete halfwit, he made no indication of it. He offered her the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen. “I would say so.”
His eyes were difficult to meet directly. They were too astute; he might uncover all her secrets. Like how often he’d occupied her thoughts lately. She had been foolish enough to risk loitering outside Marlowe’s, hoping he’d show up again. Three days ago, she considered making up some excuse to visit his property and knock on his door.Have you possibly seen Mrs. Langly’s dog, an adorable corgi by the name of Linnet?Of course, then he might suspect a thing or two when said corgi failed to show up—because it did not exist. She finally recognized her own feelings as the horrid disease ofinfatuation. And with that, the sudden awareness of Nick’s first impression of her.
He’d caught her stealing abook.
He’d caught her stealinga naughty book calledPandora’s Box.
