London's Last True Scoundrel by Christina Brooke Page A

wasn’t likely to do so now.
    He held up one of the weapons in question in a gesture of taking an oath. “I promise.”
    She nodded. “Third, and most importantly, is our destination. I have been thinking, and it seems to me that you and I have a mutual connection.”
    Manfully he denied himself the opportunity to turn that statement into sly innuendo. “Indeed?”
    “Yes, your cousin Lady Rosamund Westruther married my cousin Griffin deVere, Lord Tregarth. I have never met Lord Tregarth, but you could introduce us.”
    His own plan had been vague about their destination. He’d just wanted to get her away from this place and keep her with him for as long as possible.
    Rosamund … Yes, by Jove. It might very well be the answer.
    “That is a very good plan,” he said. “Exactly what I was thinking myself.”
    “Lady Tregarth might put me in the way of a family to whom I can be of service,” said Honey with a brave squaring of her shoulders. “I daresay with the season coming up, many young ladies require a final polish to set them on the right path.”
    A governess? What a terrible waste that would be. But he didn’t argue. He simply nodded.
    “Excellent.” He rubbed his hands together. “Any other conditions? If there are, I shall be obliged to write them down. Can’t keep more than a couple of things in my head at once, you know.”
    She took a step toward him. “Yes, there is another condition. You must not kiss me again, or try any … funny business.”
    “Funny business. Hmm.” He contemplated her for a moment. “No, I’m afraid I can’t promise that.”
    Her eyes snapped wide. “What?” The word came out as a squawk of outrage.
    He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. “When I give my word, I don’t break it. And I fear that you, my dear Honey, are too much temptation for a man like me to resist.”
    She tried to appear outraged and haughty but only managed to look sweetly discombobulated. “But—but—” she sputtered. “You would force yourself on me, even though I have asked you not to?”
    “Ah, come now,” he said easily. “Who said anything about force?”
    *   *   *
    The man was a devil in rake’s clothing. Now he’d put her in an intolerable position. If she went with him, it would be tantamount to asking for his improper advances.
    She couldn’t afford to refuse him and he knew it. The dastard.
    London.
    Even if she could not take part in the season or obtain those coveted Almack’s vouchers, being in London might be enough. Perhaps her cousin Griffin might take pity on her and intercede with her guardian on her behalf.
    Oliver, Lord deVere, had routinely ignored her pleas for an advance on her inheritance to fund her come-out. Her persistence had finally been rewarded by a threat to marry her off to a toothless octogenarian marquis, so she’d given up.
    But Lord deVere would have to listen to Griffin, wouldn’t he?
    The price was to suffer the rakish advances of Lord Davenport for the space of a day.
    “I have hat pins,” she warned him. “And I’m not afraid to use them.”
    He winced. “There will be no need for hat pins, Honey, I assure you.”
    “Miss deVere to you.”
    “When we are in public,” he agreed, “I shall call you Miss deVere.”
    She supposed she had to be satisfied with that.
    He pursed his lips. “What shall we do about your brothers?”
    Her resolve hardened. “We won’t tell them. They’ll still be sleeping off their excesses when we slip away tomorrow morning. We’ll send the carriage back with a message that I’m staying with Lady Tregarth.”
    “So that’s settled then,” he said, matching her decisive tone.
    His face was grave, but a wicked twinkle lurked in those dark eyes as he came toward her. “Shall we shake hands on the bargain?”
    Feeling absurdly daring, she stuck out her hand. He took it in his, and time shuddered to a halt.
    So much heat in his palm, so much strength in the clasp of his fingers. His hand