To Sin With A Scoundrel by Cara Elliott

soirée this evening.
     Don’t know why my wife insists that I attend. The guest list always includes a gaggle of eccentric old ladies who share the
     dowager’s interest in art and science.” The newsprint crackled. “Perhaps if
I
got written up for cavorting with a naked whore, I could get banished to the country for the duration of the Season. Just
     think of it—hounds, horses, hunting.” The viscount sighed and blew out a plume of smoke. “Heaven.”
    Somehow, his recent prank no longer seemed so uproariously funny.
Lucas slouched a little lower in his chair. “Yes, but there might be hell to pay. I’ve been told that wives don’t find that
     sort of behavior amusing. Which is one of the reasons why I don’t have one.”
    “Smart man,” growled Brewster. “I fear you are right. I have little choice but to suffer through a long evening of music and
     learned conversation. The only saving grace is that the lady serves a very decent claret.” The baron rose and set the newspaper
     aside. “Enjoy your devil-may-care freedom while you can.”
    Lucas feigned a smile, but he wasn’t feeling overly smart at the moment. In retrospect, he should not have allowed lust to
     overpower reason in dealing with Lady Sheffield. Clearly the widow was wary of the opposite sex—and he had only added more
     empirical evidence that the male species were louts. He should have reined in his baser urges. Instead, he had reacted like
     a randy stallion.
    His uncle would be so deucedly disappointed.
    Swearing under his breath, Lucas reached for the brandy. However, with his hand a mere hairsbreadth from the bottle, he held
     back. Hell, he was Mad, Bad Had-ley. He would
not
give up so easily. Henry did not yet know of the rejection. There was still time for one last assault on the lady’s Ivory
     Tower. But it would have to be done with brains rather than brawn.
    Steepling his fingers, Lucas thought a bit longer. While trying to arrange the first audience with Lady Ciara Sheffield, he
     had done a little research on his quarry. He knew of her scientific society and her small circle of friends. Recalling Brewster’s
     mention of Lady Becton’s soirée, Lucas decided to do penance for his earlier sins by making an appearance. It was the sort
     of staid affair that he would usually avoid like the plague.
    However, Brewster’s grousing had sparked an idea. The elusive widow never made an appearance in Society, but as for her fellow
     ‘Sinners’…

    Ciara eyed the Arabic manuscript, half expecting a green-horned
djinn
or
affreet
to rise in a puff of smoke from the ancient vellum. However, the only demons were those inside her head. And unfortunately
     they were speaking the king’s English, loud and clear.
    Fool! Fool! Fool!
    Stepping over the broken glass, she slumped into her desk chair and took her head in her hands. “Oh, you wicked, wanton woman,”
     she whispered. “How could you be so
woefully
stupid?”
    A handsome face, a teasing kiss—she ought to know better than to fall for a flirt’s superficial charms. The first time she
     had been oh, so young and innocent in the ways of the world. Now there was no excuse for such an abominable lapse in judgment.
     All men were charming when they wanted something.
    Well, she would
not
be manipulated or used. Lord Hadley and his wicked, wanton mouth could go kiss Lucifer’s arse…
    Out of the corner of her eye, she couldn’t help but notice the intricate little painting in the margin of the manuscript page.
     The fine brushstrokes, skillfully rendered in muted shades of greens and grays, seemed to depict a caravan of camels passing
     through a grove of palm trees,
    Intrigued, she picked up her magnifying glass and pulled the pages closer. “The traders returned from the East, bearing strange
     plants and spices previously unknown to our world,” she translated slowly.
    The tantalizing words raised gooseflesh on her arms. Sitting back, she reached for her pen and a fresh