Page 37 of Playing the Scoundrel

Wrapping one arm around her waist, Henry deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over hers, which made the entire event of the assembly ball fade away into nothingness. The heat between them increased, and he welcomed the warmth of her body in the cold evening air. She fit perfectly in his arms, her every curve molding naturally against him. Her tiny hands reached up, fingers tangling in his cravat and pulling him down meeting each gesture of his kiss with matching fervor.

When her other hand found the length of hair at the back of his neck, Henry’s hand traveled from her face to her shoulder, down the curve of her waist and around her back. Splayed across the fabric, he slid his hand up and felt his desire increasing. He wanted to carry her away and keep her forever, be the only person she shared such intimacies with. The sudden memory of Mrs. Palmer’s words surged, along with Mrs. Dunn telling him not to bother. But the way Miss Follett was responding to him, wasn’t that indication enough that he had a chance to win her? That he might already possess a portion of her heart? She had sought him out, pressed him for this moment. He would never deny her what she desired, especially if that happened to be him. But should he allow himself to hope?

Henry slowed his kisses and tried to pull away, but he couldn’t release her before pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw, her neck, causing a hitch in her breathing.

Henry traced his thumb across her lips. “No matter how I desire it, you shan’t tempt me for more. I respect you too greatly to seduce you any further.”

“What do you mean?” Her eyes were soft and brown, but something about them was also dark and dangerous, and he wanted to drown in their depths. He wanted everything about her, and not just stolen kisses.

With pounding heart, Henry placed his hands on her shoulders again, trying to gather the courage to speak. She required some sort of explanation for his actions, but to confess the truth would require a great deal of vulnerability and humility, two things he didn’t readily portray.

“You are not the woman a man dallies with once or twice and merely forgets, Emma.” He loved the way her given name felt on his lips. “You are a woman who bombards her way into his life, captures his heart entirely, and convinces him there’s no other woman on earth better suited for him.” He rested his hand on her jaw and looked down at her in adoration, and when she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, it urged him to finish. “I'm fairly certain I've never said this to anyone else before, but youhavecaptured me entirely. I’m in love with you.”

A smile grew on her lips as her hand covered his on her face. When she finally opened her eyes, Henry was expecting to see a return of affection, something to give him hope. But instead, she looked positively devious, to the extent that it caused a ripple of fear to run over him.

“Of course you are. That was my plan the entire time.”

Her words were colder than the winter air, sending shivers down his spine. “What do you mean? Your plan?”

She pulled his hands from her face and dropped them in dramatic fashion. “I’ve tricked you. It was all a ruse, nothing more. I don't have any real feelings for you. I was simply teasing you along until you fell for me.”

Any hope Henry had previously felt was now smoldering in flames within his chest, increasing the ache of his heart. So it had all been a lie. Every glance, every touch, every kiss, was some false attempt to earn his favor, only now to crush him? “But why?”

“So you can know how it feels to be had.” Her words grew fierce with anger. “You’re a scoundrel and a rake, a man who never has to face the consequences of his actions. Men like you are nothing more than wastrels, drunks, spendthrifts, and cowards. Men like you play with the hearts of innocent women without ever feeling the crushing devastation of disappointment.”

There was that word again. So bitter, so cruel.

He could see she was lashing out, but he didn’t understand why.

“Have you had your heartbroken by some rogue, and that’s why you feel the need to take your vengeance out on me?” Henry asked.

“No, but too many women I care about have been treated poorly by men like you.” She spat the last word in disgust. “Miss Roberts, for example.”

The fire of rage now burned in his chest, causing him to step forward. “Miss Roberts? The woman who cornered me at every opportunity no matter how many times I rejected her? The woman who refused to grant me a moment’s peace until I told her point blank that nothing would ever come from her perusal, and she deserved better than a man like me?”

Miss Follett’s eyes grew wide, but her mouth remained in a pert frown. “There are others, I am sure. And perhaps not by your hand, but what of the women left with child, their lives ruined by careless men? If there’s one less rake in the world, the better off it will be. When I saw the chance to teach a rake a lesson, I took matters into my own hands.”

Henry stepped forward and towered over her, but she did not cower, her dark eyes daring him onward. “You’ve sullied yourself in the company of a rake, in public and in private. Potentially ruining your own good name all for the sake of some misguided revenge?” He barely got the words out, for how hard his heart was pounding with rage.

“And how?” She smirked in response. “You’re a friend of my patroness, and she would never allow such a thing. There's no chance of you admitting you've been bested by a woman, let alone that you might desire to marry one. Besides, if you truly do love me, you wouldn't want to ruin my chances at a decent match.”

“But what if I told the world? What if I said I’d made love to you here in this garden, and then you’dhaveto marry me.”

Her eyes flared with indignation. “Then I’d make your life miserable as your wife, and I’d hate you forever.”

Henry shook his head, gaining a smirk of his own and tipping her chin with his forefinger. “Be honest with yourself, Emma. You don’t hate me. I’ve seen it in your eyes, and I’ve felt it in your kiss. You do want me. Don’t deny it.”

He wanted to see her faltering pride, the slightest hesitation in her countenance, but instead, she narrowed her eyes, stepping forward and leaning her face up to his. Her mouth was now dangerously close to his own. “You may call me Miss Follett. And the only thing I want from you is to never see you again.”

Years of pain came flooding back over him. Losing his brother, losing his mother, and the constant regret of never being good enough for his father… it was all suddenly too much. Maybe his past had changed him irrevocably and made him completely incapable of love, giving it or receiving it.

Henry took a step back. It was such a little move, but it felt like the greatest retreat. He gave her a forced smile and said, “Well done, Miss Follett. You’ve played your hand well. I can’t promise your deception will have the desired result, but if your wish is to never see me again, then so be it. You are released of any societal requirements to accept my address in public, and I’ll disturb you in private no further.” Then with a curt bow, he stormed up the garden stairs, through the crowded corridors of the assembly, and out to the streets of London, which he hoped would lead him straight to the bottom of a bottle.

This hurt. Not more or less than his previous scars, but the compound effect made it all seem unbearable. Henry wanted to brush it off, like he did with any other female conquest, but there was no denying she’d penetrated his defenses, and the ache in his chest was evidence of that.

She may have used him for her self-righteous cause, but he’d truly fallen in love with her. He thought he’d found his equal, his better half.

But if it had all been an act, perhaps he didn’t love her. Perhaps he didn’t know her at all.

And if Miss Follett thought nothing of him, then she was no better than Henry’s own father. To them, Henry was nothing more than a worthless rake.

So he would have to prove it to them. Just how right they were.

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