Scandalized by a Scoundrel
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Authors: Erin Knightley
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Regency, #Historical Romance
Scandalized by a Scoundrel
An All's Fair in Love Novella
Erin Knightley
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Scandalized by a Scoundrel
Copyright © 2013 by Erin Knightley
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without written permission.
Books By Erin Knightley:
The SEALED WITH A KISS Series
More Than a Stranger
A Taste for Scandal
Flirting with Fortune
Miss Mistletoe – A Penguin eSpecial
The PRELUDE TO A KISS Series
The Baron Next Door (June 2014)
The ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE Series (Novellas)
Ruined by a Rake
Scandalized by a Scoundrel
Dedication
To John Moock, who read my short story in our high school English class and jokingly told me it was only a few hundred pages short of being a great novel. It’s the little things that plant the seeds sometimes. Also to Nicole C, who never doubted I’d be on the shelves someday. Thanks for all the encouragement along the way!
And for Kirk, although I’m fairly sure I was the one who scandalized you when we first met.
Chapter One
For a man with a pistol pointed at his chest, the trespasser seemed rather disconcertingly unconcerned.
Amelia Watson adjusted her grip on her weapon and repeated her question. “What business have you on my father’s lands, sir?” She didn’t waver at all, instead holding steady and true on her target. Her exceptionally
broad
target. The man’s chest was nearly as wide as his patronizing smile.
“If these lands are your father’s, then clearly I have taken a wrong turn.” He tilted his head, his dark gaze raking over her from the lacy bottom of her dainty pink morning gown to the top of her beribboned straw bonnet before landing again on the pistol in her outstretched hand. “I must say, you make for a very unique welcoming committee for poor, lost souls who have unwittingly wandered across property lines.”
What kind of accent was that, anyway? Yes, he spoke the King’s English, but there was a flavor to it that she didn’t quite recognize. Not Scottish or Irish, but definitely something. His looks gave no hint to what it might be. His eyes were nearly the same color as his hair, both dark and shining in the morning sun. Based on his tanned skin, she’d wager he spent quite a bit of time in the elements.
His light grey wool jacket fit well enough but certainly wasn’t of the best quality. Nor were his boots, which were clean and polished but obviously well-worn. Stubble shadowed his cheeks, as though he’d gone a day or two without the benefit of a razor. Even so, his eyes seemed intelligent, his posture proud. He didn’t
look
like a man who was looking for trouble, but she couldn’t be sure.
And really, what did a villain look like? According to Papa, half the members of parliament were criminals.
Grateful for the solid weight of the pistol’s brass grip, she lifted her chin. “There are poor, lost souls, and there are those up to no good. Speak now as to your purpose here before I make up my own mind and act accordingly.”
She was careful to control her breathing, not giving away the fact that her heart was pounding like a runaway horse. It had been since the moment he appeared from the copse of trees lining her favorite path. Perhaps she should have listened to Papa’s warning not to go walking unaccompanied. Although, to be fair, he had issued the same warning, for as long as she could remember, every time she stepped foot outside the house.
The man lifted an eyebrow, everything about him showing a complete lack of worry regarding her and her flintlock. “You are aware there is a wedding this week on your neighbor’s estate?”
Heat that had nothing to do with the late-summer sun stole up her cheeks. Of course…the wedding. Eleanor had invited her weeks ago, but Amelia hadn’t even thought about the fact that guests were sure to be arriving early.
Although… She narrowed her eyes speculatively at the handsome intruder. Most everyone in the area knew about the coming nuptials, so it was possible he was merely using the event as an excuse. “I am indeed aware—as is nearly everyone else in a twenty-five-mile radius. Do you have some sort of proof that you are a guest?”
One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Of course. Here, let me just fish my engraved invitation from my coat pocket, where I keep it for just such an occasion as this.” He made no move toward his jacket, not that she expected it. He was clearly mocking her.
She glared at him, unamused. “Fine, then be off with you. Do not return, sir, or you will find me somewhat less hospitable.”
His brows lifted halfway up his forehead. “
Less
hospitable? Shall I be drawn and quartered then?”
The gun grew increasingly heavy in her hand, but she refused to back down. She didn’t know this man from Adam, and his flippant attitude put her on edge. “If you’re lucky.”
He chuckled softly and tipped his hat. “Very well. I can take a hint. Good day, Miss Watson.”
Her eyes widened at the mention of her name. “Wait,” she exclaimed, stopping him mid-turn. Dropping the gun to her side, she peered at him with renewed interest. “How did you know my name?”
One single brow lifted as he tilted his head. “I don’t imagine there are many pistol-wielding, beautiful young women in these parts.” He tapped his forehead. “Deductive reasoning.”
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her hot-cheeked and stunned. A moment later, a slow, reluctant smile came to her lips. Apparently her reputation preceded her. She stuffed the pistol back into the deep pocket at her hip where she always carried it and set off for the house.
It would seem a visit to her neighbor’s estate had just been added to her agenda.
***
“You said she was a pistol, but I don’t recall the warning that she’d be
carrying
one.” Gabriel Winters cocked an eyebrow in his friend’s direction as he joined the man in the modest billiards room occupying the northeastern corner of the manor house’s second floor. Neither one of them were much for billiards, but it was a quiet room where they wouldn’t be bothered.
Setting down his freshly polished foil, Nicolas Norton chuckled. “Does it matter? I should think you’d be used to looking down the barrel of a gun by now.”
“Yes, of course. It was the person holding the gun that gave me pause.” As a soldier, Gabriel was more acquainted with the business end of weapons than most, but this encounter was certainly a first.
“Why was that?” Norton asked, stuffing his cleaning supplies back into a small leather satchel. There were servants who could do such jobs, but for as long as Gabriel had known him, Norton had preferred to tend to his own weapons, both for war and sport.
Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You’re getting married, man, not going blind. If you’ve laid eyes on the girl, you know full well she’s a dark-haired Botticelli’s Venus in the flesh.” There was no denying her beauty, even if she was a bit of a shrew.
Nick snorted. “I certainly hope there were more clothes involved than that.”
“Unfortunately, yes.” Though she had stopped him dead in his tracks even clothed —a reaction that had nothing to do with the sudden appearance of the flintlock. “I’m just glad your betrothed told me about the other guests who would be attending the wedding breakfast. She wasn’t kidding, either—the girl is fit for Bedlam.”
It hadn’t been hard to figure out who she was—how many young women of quality would be within walking distance of this place, after all—and it was worth taking the guess just to have seen the absolute shock on her face.
He’d enjoyed catching her off guard. She’d been unreasonably highhanded with him. Not unexpected from an Englishwoman of her class, especially after she’d heard his accent. In his experience, the females of the beau monde were always eager to look down their noses at someone like him.
“Eleanor said no such thing. She simply said Miss Watson is a tad unorthodox.”
It was Gabriel’s turn to snort. “A tad unorthodox? That’s like saying old King George is simply having a bad day.” The girl was downright peculiar. Beautiful, but peculiar.
His friend raised an eyebrow. “Watch it there, Winters. He may be mad, but he’s still our king.”
“Yours, maybe. I’m only half tied to the man.”
“And yet you risked your life on the battlefield for him. Now who’s peculiar?”
Yes, there was that. “I risked my life for the fame and fortune, of course,” he said, holding a straight face. “Ole Georgie never entered into the equation.”
Nick threw him an unconvinced look. Tilting his head, he said, “Come to think of it… Didn’t you choose the British militia because the Yanks wouldn’t have you?”
He was right, damn the man. It still rankled that they had turned him down because of his English citizenship. It wasn’t his fault his mother chose a bloody Englishman for her husband. As soon as his father died, Gabriel had happily accompanied his mother back to New York. He may not have been born an American, but it was sure as hell in his blood. “Something like that.”
Nick snapped his fingers, his eyes going wide. “Christ, I keep forgetting. This is all moot now anyway. With your new title, you’re more English than I am.”
Gabriel blinked, his mind readjusting to his new future all over again. And here his father had thought it safe to marry a rich but inferior—in
his
eyes—American since he already had an heir and a spare from his first wife, an English paragon if there ever was one.
Too bad he hadn’t counted on his eldest sons’ sins coming back to bite him in the arse. With one brother dead from a duel with a cuckolded husband and the other recently buried following a drunken fall from his horse, the title now came to Gabriel, the unwanted mongrel third son. Taking a deep breath, he pushed away the unpalatable thoughts of his new and unwanted station. “Never say it, my friend. Now back to this neighbor of yours.”
A rustle at the door had them both turning their heads. Miss Abbington, Norton’s lovely step-cousin and soon-to-be wife, leaned into the room. “What’s this I hear about our neighbor?”
Norton tsked, folding his arms over his chest. “Eavesdropping, are we?” A foolish grin lit his face at the very sight of the woman. Damn, but the man had turned into a sap. And apparently so had Gabriel, since the sight of Norton’s love-struck face made him smile. Somehow, the man had managed to find the very best this country had to offer, and Gabriel was honestly happy for him.
Not that he was in any way envious. He had a plan, and it sure as hell didn’t involve any English woman.
“No, I wasn’t eavesdropping,” she replied, rolling her eyes. “I was looking for you to remind you that the vicar would be here within the hour. And I wished to ensure that you had recovered from your rather sound defeat this morning.”
“I beg your pardon,” Norton said, mock affront lacing his words. “That wasn’t defeat; that was
surrender
.”
Something about his response made her cheeks flare pink, and Gabriel decided to intervene before he learned more than he wanted to know about their fencing match this morning. Clearing his throat, he said, “So, yes—I made Miss Watson’s acquaintance this morning. Or rather, I made the acquaintance of her pistol.
Lovely
girl.”
His interruption did the trick. Miss Abbington’s eyes snapped to his as her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh dear. You must have wandered onto Sir Elroy’s property. Well, at least she didn’t shoot you. I imagine that means she likes you.” She smiled broadly, almost encouragingly.
His brow lifted in disbelief seconds before he laughed out loud. “Yes, how very hospitable of her. She is aware that we are not in the middle of some untamed wilderness, yes?”
Miss Abbington came fully into the room and settled beside her betrothed on the sturdy, masculine sofa. Norton’s hand casually curled around her shoulders, as though Gabriel weren’t sitting right there in front of them. Sighing, she said, “You mustn’t blame her. Her father is a bit… Well, it’s not my place to speak of their business, but suffice it to say she has good reason for being cautious around strangers.”
“My, that makes me feel
so
much better,” he said, light sarcasm frosting his words. “Should I be concerned she’ll be armed at the wedding breakfast? Perhaps armor is in order?”
She chuckled, amusement touching her dark eyes. “What, are you afraid of a little ole female?”
“Of course I am. I’m afraid of all females.”
“Smart man,” Norton said, earning a smack on the shoulder. “What?” he asked, the word couched in laughter. “A smart man knows he’s no match for a woman. Especially a woman bearing a weapon.”
She gave him a tart, knowing smile. “Ah—so you did learn something from our match this morning.”
“Indeed,” he said solemnly, nodding. “I learned that a woman’s kisses following a win are so much more enthusiastic than the ones doled out after a defeat.”
Gabriel swallowed a laugh, wondering if that was his cue to leave the two lovebirds. Before he could do anything, though, she came to her feet. “In that case, I shall make doubly certain not to lose to you in future matches.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she winked and headed for the door. “Now, don’t forget to be ready within the hour. Lord Winters, do enjoy your day.”
They both watched her as she left, her shiny black braid swinging with each step. “You know, Winters,” Norton said at last, smacking his hands on his knees and offering a rueful smile. “In my experience, a woman who knows her way around a weapon is the very best kind.”
Gabriel gave a snort of laughter. “I think I’ll take your word for it on that one.”
***
“Amelia Lynnette Watson, where have you been?”
Drat. Squeezing her eyes closed for a brief moment, Amelia drew a deep breath before backing up a few steps to the doorway of the library. “Good morning, Papa. I was enjoying a walk in this fine weather. How are you?”
Folding his paper and dropping it into his lap, he glowered at her from his favorite reading chair. His perpetually downturned mouth sagged even further than usual, not unlike warmed candlewax succumbing to gravity. “How am I? Perhaps you should have asked yourself such a question before deciding to linger so long during your walk, young lady. You know very well how much strain that puts on my nerves, especially since you insist on going alone.”