Page 23 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Alexandra bent to retrieve a stone from the banks of the pond. She ran her thumb across the surface. “Have you read Mary Wollstonecraft? She died almost seventy years ago, but the things she wrote about are relevant even today. Women are still fighting for education. London University finally allowed nine women to matriculate this year. And do you know what I keep thinking?”
How patient he looked. How interested. As if he held his breath, waiting for what she’d say. “Tell me.”
Alexandra gave a bitter laugh and threw the rock. It skipped across the surface of the water three times before disappearing. “It’s 1868, and women are still arguing to receive even a fraction of what men have been offered for hundreds of years. We make one small movement toward progress and men in power pat themselves on the back and take the credit. As if rights were a bauble to be gifted at their will. Then they return to ignoring the fact that from the House of Lords all the way down to a mere university senate, the people who hold the most influence look like them.” She lifted her chin and regarded him frankly. “You ask me what work I wish to do? What if I said I wished to write about social reforms? What if I wished to write about the people society has made voiceless because it values the opinions of wealthy men over everyone else? What if, one day, I wanted to buy my own press and give people the means to speak their own truth?”
She heard him loose a breath. Nick stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. What a strange expression he wore, so intent and almost fevered—and not because it was warm out.He likes it, she realized with wonder. He looked as if he wanted to pull her close, kiss her fiercely.
And if he did, she’d let him.
“I’d ask what sort of desk I ought to purchase for you,” he said. “A woman who does such work needs a good desk.”
Her heart kicked in her chest and she smiled. “I would say that I shouldn’t accept a gift from you. But I may make an exception for a very large, very solid mahogany with many hidden compartments.”
“Compartments for pens, ink, sweets, and secrets,” Nick said with a grin. “Done.”
* * *
He adored her.
Nick almost laughed at the absurdity of it, some joke the devil would enjoy. Here he was: lying to her, making her think him some English lord. Using a fake accent. Dressed in these fancy clothes he’d bought just for the occasion of this swindle. He had his coat off because it was too damn hot and twill itched.
And he adored his fucking mark.
“What about you?” she asked, tossing another rock into the lake. “How did you earn your reputation, schoolmaster that you are?”
After crafting thousands of lies during his good for nothing life, this one chafed. Schoolmaster. Jesus Christ, what had he been thinking? “I’ll tell you a secret,” he said, loathing himself. She deserved better than this. “Schoolmasters must be a little wicked, to deal with wicked children.”
“My governess would call that poppycock.”
“And were you well behaved for your governess?”
She gave him a mischievous smile, one that he’d imagined these last five nights when he dreamed of her. “I drove her mad.”
“There, you see?”
She fanned her face with her hat. Sweat was beginning to bead at her brow from their walk. “I have the feeling your reputation comes from saying things you ought not, just as mine does.”
“And being shocking.”
“Indeed? I love a good scandal.” She lowered her hat. “May we rest a moment? I’m about to perish from the heat.”
As she perched on a nearby rock, Thorne stood at the edge of the lake. He had never seen water so clear, as if it were made of glass. Life in Stratfield Saye made him uneasy; the comfort of it, the cleanliness. Constant reminders of what he’d left behind, and what he needed to get back to fixing. Would he ever have an opportunity like this again? Clean lake, clear sky? Beautiful lady in the countryside? Walking without purpose?
The time to do these things was a privilege of the wealthy. Safety, too.
In a few weeks, he would have neither. The skies would be filled with coal smoke. The countryside replaced with crumbling tenements. The nearest shore would belong to the stinking Thames.
No, he would not have this opportunity again.
He dropped his jacket to the grass and began unbuttoning his waistcoat.
“What are you doing?” Alexandra asked.
He noticed her gaze linger on his body and that made him grin. “It’s hot. We’re near a pond. Surely you’ve made the connection.”
“Well, yes, but . . .” She glanced around, as if expecting someone to turn up and spot them. “We can’t.”
“Oh, but wecan.You said you loved a scandal. Let’s have one in secret.”
