To Seduce a Scoundrel (14 page)

“My lord, Lady Philippa desires a conversation with you.” He gestured to the vehicle parked on the corner. “In that hack. Will you come with me, please?”

The door to Philippa’s hired hack opened, and Sevrin climbed inside.

The lantern highlighted his drawn brows, his dark eyes, and the furious set of his lips. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?”

She’d expected him to be surprised, but not angry. “I need your help.”

His eyes widened, and he leaned forward from the opposite seat. “Are you all right?”

His concern warmed her. She’d made the right decision in seeking his help. Without it, she could very well find herself in a loathsome marriage. She may still, but reasoned her chances were far better with an ally like Sevrin weeding the field of suitors. And it had to be him. He was the only man from whom she could expect total honesty. The only man she trusted. Which was why she’d risked coming here. “I’m fine. I’ve come to ask for your assistance with finding a husband.”

He blinked at her. Slowly, he settled back against the squab. “You took a chance coming here. I thought we were trying to preserve your reputation.”

“Which is why I’m in a hired hack. And it’s not as if anyone in polite society knows where you live. Except Saxton.”

“I presume he gave you my direction?” At her nod, he continued. “I’ll give him hell for that.”

“If you must. Now, if you’d let me present my request, we could go our separate ways. May I speak?”

Wordlessly, he gestured for her to go on. Then he folded his arms across his chest, pulling the wool of his coat tight across his broad, muscular shoulders. Lamplight slashed across his imperfectly handsome nose and his sensuous lips.

Heat stole up the back of her neck. “I need to find a husband right away.”

His eyes narrowed and he frowned. “Philippa, I can’t marry you.”

His quick refusal stung, which was ludicrous since she wasn’t even proposing
that
. “I’m not asking you to marry me. I need your help to find a husband.”

His jaw didn’t drop per se, but it visibly drooped as if he only just kept himself from gaping. “I’m not a matchmaker, I’m a scoundrel.”

Her body shivered at the word
scoundrel
. Despite his all-around unsuitability—she was still hopelessly attracted to him. Sitting with him here in the dim hack reminded her of their first night together, snuggling close to his warm body on the ride home. She shouldn’t think of such things. He was an inappropriate match even if he were interested in marriage. Which he wasn’t.

She straightened her spine and did her best to ignore how much she liked being with him. “You don’t have to find potential candidates. I have a list. I want you to discover their true natures—the things they don’t show the woman they’re courting.”

He settled back against the squab. “I doubt I would know anyone on this list of yours.”

“Perhaps, but I’m confident you can still glean the information I need.” She arched a brow at him. “As you so kindly reminded me, you’re a scoundrel. I’m sure you’ll be able to identify any kindred spirits on the list.”

“What a cunning female you are.” He grinned, and she felt like they were back at Lockwood House enjoying each other’s company despite the disasters they’d encountered at every turn. They’d performed like a team. She’d never realized how good it felt to have someone with her. Someone watching out for her and keeping her safe. Not just that—someone sharing experiences.

He stretched his arms out along the top of the back of the cushion, putting his stamp on the meager space in the coach. “Now, tell me why you’re in such a hurry all of a sudden.”

“My mother is moving to a new townhouse. She’s leaving Herrick House in less than thirty days.”

“Pardon my shortsightedness, but why does that matter?”

How could he miss the obvious? “Because she’ll be living separately from her husband and conducting a liaison with another man. Just as my father has a very public mistress. Perhaps you saw them at Lady Dunwoody’s ball?”

He nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “I did. I’m sorry.”

And now she felt shrewish for thinking he didn’t understand. She took a deep breath and explained the situation with her parents. She couldn’t expect him to react the way she would or the way her friends would. He was a man—a scandalous man—who said he didn’t want to be friends. Regardless, he was listening to her and now displaying—yet again—consideration. Which was precisely why she knew she could trust him to help her, regardless of whatever he said or whatever he’d done in the past.

“So you want to rush into a marriage? That doesn’t sound particularly sensible, and you seem like a sensible girl—” he arched a brow, “—your presence here notwithstanding.”

“I
am
a sensible girl, which is why I’ve weighed my options and determined this to be the best course of action. I’ve also approached the process of finding a husband with logic and care. Will you help me or not?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer. She’d decided to put her faith, her
trust
in him. Would he trample it as her parents had, or would he support her?

He fell silent a moment, turning his head to gaze out the window. She watched his hands, which were splayed atop the upper edge of the back of the squab. His position was so very relaxed, yet commanding in the way he took up the entire seat. Again, she recalled nestling against his chest, within the crook of his arm and wished she could move to sit beside him. To draw from his strength and his protection.

He looked at her again and her face heated. Could he read her thoughts? But he only asked, “Who are these men, and what am I supposed to learn about them? Wait, I think I know. You want a lapdog, if memory serves.” His tone was light.

He was going to agree. She released the tension from her shoulders and rolled them back against the squab. “That was
your
assessment. I’d like a husband I can respect and admire, and who will be faithful.”

“Unlike your father.”

Very astute. “Yes.”

He unfolded his arms and rested them on his knees. His gaze was direct, piercing even. “And what of love? Don’t you want to love your husband?”

The air in the coach seemed to heat, the space between them to decrease. Hearing him talk of love only heightened her arousal. Had he loved someone? What role had love played—if any—in his past, with the girl he’d refused to marry? And why did he care if
she
loved? “I had hoped to, but that is not a requirement. In fact, it might be best if that emotion weren’t involved at all.”

“I have trouble imagining that for you,” he said softly, his voice a dark caress.

Heat coiled in her belly. He was so perceptive. “I would also prefer a husband I’m attracted to. Someone with whom I might share…” She glanced away lest he see the obvious truth in her eyes—that she was recalling his kisses. “Passion.”

Sevrin shifted in his seat, drawing his coat tighter around his middle. “I see. And how do you plan to discover the depth of a man’s passion?” He sounded strained and he’d leaned forward just the smallest bit.

“I will kiss them, and if they kiss like you—”

“Philippa, don’t.” His tone was dark, dangerous, his eyes hooded. “You can’t talk to me like that.”

Her blood warmed and her skin tingled. The air in the coach crackled with something almost tangible. “I know it’s not terribly appropriate, but you must agree our relationship is anything but appropriate.”

“We don’t have a relationship. I’ve told you—we can’t be friends.”

He could resist all he liked, but they already were. And why was he resisting? Did he prefer emotionless acquaintances? She was beginning to think he needed her and the connection they’d forged at Lockwood House. “Does this mean you won’t help me?”

He scowled at her. “You can’t go around kissing all of the men on this list.”

“I won’t. I’ll narrow it down to two or three and start by kissing one of them.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I can see I’m already a bad influence on you.”

“Not at all. You weren’t the first man I kissed.”

He dropped his hand and stared at her.

She hastened to assure him. “You shan’t corrupt me. Unless I’m unable to find someone who is up to your standards. In that case, I may have to curse you.” She smiled at him, but he only continued to stare, his eyes dark and impenetrable, his frame still as the surface of a frozen pond.

While she waited for him to say something, she realized his gaze was focused on her mouth. The warmth in her veins stoked into something brighter, hotter.

“Give me your list,” he said.

She fumbled through her reticule and withdrew the list of names and handed it to him. He was careful to keep his fingers from touching her as he took the paper. She exhaled in disappointment.

He studied the parchment beneath the glow of the lantern. “I don’t know any of these men personally.”

She had wondered if he would. The only man of stature she’d ever seen him with was Saxton. She supposed she should also count Lockwood, but his title was as useful to his reputation as Sevrin’s was to his. “I think you might be able to find information about the men on my list at White’s. You do go to White’s, don’t you?”

“Occasionally.” He still hadn’t looked up from the list. “D’Echely’s French, surely you can do better than that.” He shook his head and lifted his gaze to hers. “Finchley, isn’t he a young dandy?” She nodded. “Vick and Allred. Isn’t Vick a bit old for you?”

“You can see my options are few. I ruled several gentlemen out during my previous Seasons. However, if you find anyone you think may suit, do tell me.”

His lids drooped, making him look unbearably seductive. “I told you I’m not a matchmaker.”

Her pulse quickened. “You don’t want me to marry someone awful, do you?” She sounded breathless. Which made sense since she felt as if she couldn’t quite fill her lungs.

Their gazes locked. “I’m not sure I want you to marry at all,” he said softly.

Her breath caught and held in her constricted chest.

He coughed, breaking the spell between them, and pressed back against the squab. “But I see why you must. I’ll conduct this investigation and deliver my findings as quickly as possible.”

“Thank you.” She willed her body to relax fully—but it wouldn’t. She felt taut and warm and quivery.

He grasped the door handle. “You will
not
contact me, is that clear? I’ll deliver my information to you. If you can’t agree to that, I won’t help you.”

Tonight’s excursion had been a necessary risk. One she didn’t plan to repeat. “I agree. I’ll send a note if I require assistance or information.” She put her hand over his. The shock of the touch stole her breath again. He turned his head to look at her. “You’ve done nothing but help me since we’ve met and I’m very grateful.”

He was staring at her mouth again. She leaned forward and licked her bottom lip, which had gone completely dry.

He took her hand from his and placed it in her lap, bringing his upper body toward her. His scent of sandalwood and sage stirred her senses. “Don’t kiss anyone until you hear from me.”

“I won’t.” And now she was staring at his mouth, wishing he’d kiss her again.

Then he opened the door and stepped down from the coach. He closed the door and the vehicle moved before she settled back against the squab. Little tremors of anticipation rioted through her.

If one of the men on her list could elicit half the reaction Sevrin did, she might just make a go of it. Things were moving along exactly as they should. Why then did she feel unsatisfied?

Chapter Nine

THE following evening, Ambrose scowled as the third bout of the night at the Bucket of Blood concluded. All of the fighters had been bitterly disappointing, and to further blacken his mood, Ackley wasn’t about and no one seemed to know how Ambrose might find him. He’d been counting on successfully recruiting Ackley in order to endure the rest of his evening’s agenda: he was going to White’s on behalf of Philippa and her dash to find a husband.

With a muttered curse, he left the Lamb and Flag and hailed a hack to St. James. Fleetingly, he considered directing the driver to the Black Horse, but he couldn’t fight at his club. Not with the prizefight less than a week away. He growled “White’s” at the driver instead.

His body felt brittle, anxious, incendiary. He couldn’t fight, and yet he
needed
to fight in order to keep his lust for Philippa at bay. Her surprise visit last night and the ensuing coach ride had only stoked his desire for her. When she’d spoken of kissing him and then of kissing other men, envy had nearly sent him sprawling on top of her. Then she’d touched him and God, he’d almost been lost.

He’d simply been too long without a woman. What had once been a repentant endeavor had become torture in the last week. A torture he could perhaps end by simply purchasing professional services at the end of his interminable errands this night.

God, he really was a scoundrel. Take away his pugilism and he was desperate for sex.

The hack stopped in front of White’s. Ambrose alighted and marched up the steps. A footman opened the door wide and Ambrose strode inside. He took in the dark wood, the pungent smell of smoke and liquor, the warm sounds of conversation and game play—a true gentleman’s haven, so different from his club at the Black Horse. So far removed in fact, that he was always a trifle astonished he was allowed within these hallowed walls. Except, he was a member so they
had
to let him in.