Heart of a Scoundrel (Handful of Hearts Book 4) by Jenna Jaxon

Author:Jenna Jaxon [Jaxon, Jenna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-10-08T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Richard returned to his set of rooms at the Albany, well pleased with this evening’s work. He always enjoyed excursions to Vauxhall; they very often ended in an amorous encounter with some woman, of the ton or not. Tonight’s foray hadn’t resulted in satisfaction of that sort, but it had worked out completely as planned.

His butler let him in, and after shedding his hat and coat, he perused the late post, which contained only a letter from his father. Something about the betrothal, most likely, and of little consequence. About to toss it onto the table, he thought better of it and popped the seal instead. One never knew for sure what Father’s scheming might bring—he could’ve written to tell him the betrothal had been called off.

Richard’s spirits rose at the thought. After experiencing the exhilarating company of Amanda Sharpe the past week or so, he found Lady Edith held even fewer charms for him. Of course, his interest in Miss Sharpe rested solely in her ability to win him his racing stable, but he had enjoyed flirting and toying with her. A very vivacious lady. He’d miss that once they parted.

Quickly perusing the letter, he discovered that Lord Drummond was indeed due to sign the settlement papers next week. That would certainly put paid to his freedom. Why the devil did Father have to have a bee in his proverbial bonnet about Lord Drummond’s parcel of land in the Highlands? Any other piece would do as well and not saddle him with a bride he cared for not at all. He crumpled the letter in his fist and, with a flick of his wrist, pitched it into the fireplace, where the fire burned merrily in the grate. The smooth cream paper smoldered before suddenly bursting into flames.

Heading for the sideboard, Richard heaped curses on his father’s head. Pouring a good three fingers of the dark amber liquid into a crystal tumbler, he mused on the lovely color of the spirit then knocked it back, relishing the burn coursing down his throat. Much good had been accomplished tonight.

Miss Sharpe—or Amanda, as he so willingly called her—had all but thrown herself at him in the lane in Vauxhall. True, he’d managed to get her alone, but she’d been most eager to follow where he led. Not at all what a proper lady would do, when one thought of it. Still, if given the choice of a decorous lady or a hoyden, he’d have to admit, he’d find the hoyden much more attractive.

Fortunately, she trusted him implicitly, which spoke well of his mastery in deceit, but not of her good judgment. In other things, he’d admit, she had excellent discernment. And a ruthless streak he’d not expected when he met her, but which had drawn him to her as to no other lady of his acquaintance. Were like natures always attracted to one another? Their one foray into card playing a deux, a game of vingt et un at the card

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