Tempting the Scoundrel

TEMPTING THE SCOUNDREL

TRACY SUMNER

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Epilogue

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TEMPTING THE SCOUNDREL

Copyright © 2020 by Tracy Sumner

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Edited by: Casey Harris-Parks

PROLOGUE

An evening when young love is in the air…

Tavistock House, Mayfair

July 1808

The girl captivated him from first sight, fascination a delightful little shiver along his skin.

As she had every night he’d been in residence, she huddled in the veranda’s dark corner, book in hand, an oil lamp illuminating the page she brought close to the tarnished glass globe. A housemaid, she read in secret. And hungrily.

He could feel her determination, her daring, from his perch one story above.

Determination matching his own.

Christian Bainbridge braced his hands on the ledge of his bedchamber window and leaned into a spill of moonlight, releasing a half-laugh at his foolishness. There was nothing poetic about this night, this house, or his circumstances. The air reeked of coal smoke and charred meat, rotting vegetables and the Thames, familiar even in its wretchedness. Cousin to the Earl of Tavistock, whose home Christian currently occupied, he was stuck in the slender crack between the aristocracy and the middling classes, welcome in neither.

The loneliest place to wedge oneself, he’d come to find.

After the recent death of his beloved brother, Christian was alone in the world except for the earl, a man rumored—and, regrettably, the rumors were true—to have several significant deficits of character.

To Christian’s mind, the worst being that he failed to maintain his timepieces.

Christian glanced back to the pocket watch parts spread across the desk, candlelight dancing over metal coils, serrated wheels, the blunt edge of a screwdriver. You could tell much about a person from the way they tended their treasures.

The earl tended his poorly.

Tavistock had little care for his belongings, his tenants, his staff, or his hapless fifteen-year-old cousin. Leading Christian to make the rash decision to accept an apprenticeship he’d been offered with a prominent watchmaker in Cambridge. He had another term at Harrow to complete, but there were no funds, not one farthing left to sustain further education. And Christian was not willing to accept additional charity from a man he’d come to loathe.

The situation was actually as it should be because Christian had never been interested in anything but the art of repairing timepieces.

And when he was ready, designing his own.

Before this girl, only gears and coils and springs had captured his attention.

He’d asked a groom, a footman, and finally, the housekeeper for her name, because he’d felt he must learn it before leaving the estate at dawn. Raine Mowbray, he’d been told.

A young woman who now held a unique position in his universe.

Love at first sight did that to a boy.

There was something elemental about his reaction to Raine, more extraordinary than mere appreciation for her loveliness. Lust, he supposed, but it felt like more. He had little experience with women, so he couldn’t accurately categorize his response.

He’d only seen her once up close, no words exchanged, no eye contact made, as she rushed through the walled garden and into the kitchens, the aroma of roses overpowering until the subtle scent of lemon and lavender clinging to her skin swept in and knocked all else aside. Blew every thought from his mind and left him stranded, like a withered leaf dangling from a limb.

It sounded melodramatic, but his heart had raced inside with her.

While she hadn’t paused or blinked or seemed to notice him at all.

Which was a good thing. Christian was leaving, he was destitute, lacking in funds, family, or friends. Too young to matter, too old to indulge. His future, which was going to be bloody brilliant he pledged to himself right there in the cloying twilight, lay in Cambridge, not London.

He was going to make his way on his own, his awful cousin be damned.

The girl on the veranda moved the book into the light, turned a page with a delicate shift of her wrist, smiled softly at a twist in the story. He wished with everything in him that they’d been able to talk, he and Raine Mowbray. Even once. For a moment. About anything. Her voice was a mystery to him, and for that, he was genuinely sorrowful, because she looked as lonely as he felt.

Willing himself to turn away, Christian returned to his cousin’s watch and his promise to restore the neglected timepiece before he left London. When repaired, it would provide an accurate accounting for a man who didn’t deserve precision.

But such was life.

Christian placed the loupe against his eye and plunged into his task.

Preparing to walk away from one fascination and toward another.

CHAPTER 1

A morning long after love had been forsaken…

Hartland Abbey, Yorkshire

June 1818

Raine stared out the duchess’s drawing room window, the oilcloth in her hand forgotten. Her intention to dust the sashes and neat white frame forgotten.

There was something unusual about the tall, strikingly handsome man who’d arrived at the estate and now stood on the crushed-stone drive talking with Lord Jonathan, the Duke of Devon’s eldest son. She gave the baseboard a punishing buff, searching her memory.

He seemed familiar, which was absurd.

Raine cataloged his features, trying to solve the puzzle. Square jaw, dark, disheveled hair, tastefully elegant suit of clothing, polished Hessians glinting in the sunlight. A curl of amusement about his lips, lines of delight streaking from his eyes, he looked rather like a man who held a secret close. A hint of mischievousness beneath an almost bookish air. Spellbound, she watched him gesture to a passing footman who’d unloaded a bevy of cases from a landau and was struggling to carry them inside the house, the man’s regard for his belongings—which didn’t look like the customary sartorial fripperies the ton dragged to Yorkshire—possessive and intense. Whatever was in those gleaming wooden cases mattered to their visitor. His gaze followed the boxes up the marble stairs and into the house with the longing one usually reserved for a paramour.

They say he refused a knighthood.

Raine flinched, the oilcloth dropping from her hand to the Aubusson carpet. Ellen Bruce, one of the other housemaids, giggled and winked. In the duke’s employ since she was a child, Ellen knew everyone and heard everything, while Raine had only been on the estate for six paltry months.

Therefore she knew almost nothing.

A knighthood dangled before him for repairing the Prince Regent’s fickle pocket watch, Ellen murmured with a sly glance cast toward the drive. Can you imagine such a thing? Royalty be daft, Prinny especially. That’s what I think, if anyone asks me, which they likely won’t.

Who are you referring to? Raine stooped to pick up her cleaning cloth, hopefully hiding her curiosity about the intriguing stranger, inquisitiveness that a house servant of a magnificent house such as Hartland Abbey should not have about a guest.

Mister Christian Bainbridge, that’s who. Friendly with Lord Jonathan since his school days, he’s stayed here one or two times in the past. Ellen pranced over to the grand fireplace and gave the intricate trim a passing swipe with her duster that in no way accounted for housework. She laughed, throwing a playful look over her shoulder, knowing she had a captive audience. It’s said he designs the most accurate timepieces in England, and you know the duke cannot stand to be late for any appointment. In this house, nothing but a Bainbridge will do.

Wordlessly, they watched the celebrated watchmaker stroll past the drawing room, his footfalls echoing off marble, providing another brief look that confirmed he was as appealing inside the house as he was out of it.

A most eligible bachelor but a duke’s daughter would be reaching too high. Although he’s here to court timepieces, not unmarried ladies, Ellen whispered, breathless with delight at the opportunity to impart this much gossip in one sitting. He has more money than half the peerage what with their silly extravagances and base business sense. And so attractive, too. She turned, her duster poised like a sword, and gave it a little jab. "He’ll get one look at you, and poof, be