The Heart of a Scoundrel (The Heart of a Duke #6)(8)

“Blast.”

He stilled.

A flurry of cursing rent the quiet of the night. Riiiiip. “Bloody hell.”

And for the first time since he’d set his scheme into motion involving the dull, hideously plain Miss Honoria Fairfax he felt the faint stirring of interest. And if he were a less cynical, less practiced rogue, he’d have been intrigued by the cursing, too loud for a tryst, young lady at the far end of the terrace.

“Is that you?”

He wandered down the stone patio, the tread of his boots noiseless, silent as the dead.

“Oh, do hurry, Honoria.” Edmund drew to a sudden, jarring stop, a black frown on his lips. Honoria? Then who was the white-skirted creature he’d been erroneously chasing after? He growled. Bloody hell, he’d followed the blasted wrong chit. Cursing his ill luck he spun on his heel and started back toward the double doors, when the lady called out.

“I’m afraid I’ve snagged my gown on Lord Delenworth’s spear.”

That gave Edmund pause and, despite himself, for the first time in more than a score of years, an honest grin pulled at his lips. He quickly flattened them into a familiar, hard line.

“I’m here,” Miss Phoebe Barrett quietly called, “and this is certainly not as pleasurable as I’d imagined.”

Edmund tamped down any amusement at the lady’s unwitting innuendo. He strode closer. The thick clouds, obscuring the moon, shifted and cast a pale glow of white light upon the terrace to the lone figure of Miss Phoebe Barrett bent over the balustrade with her derriere presented for his viewing pleasure, buttocks far more generous than he’d previously credited.

He stopped beside the lady angling her neck about to catch a glimpse of her friend. Their gazes collided. “Hullo,” he drawled on a silken whisper.

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline as her eyes formed round moons. “Uh-er, hello,” she finished weakly.

He closed the distance between them and layered his hands upon the stone ledge. “Do you require assistance?” Though, in actuality, the lady was a good deal more appealing with her backside presented to him like a generous offering.

“Assistance?” She squiggled and squirmed and an unexpected wave of lust hit him. Then she stilled and he cursed the fates for stealing his fleeting enjoyment of the evening. She sighed. “Yes. I believe I’ve dropped something over the edge.” She bit her lip and scanned the darkened grounds. “My shawl. I suspect the wind may have carried it off when I was looking at the grounds below.” She suspected wrong. “Because there really is no other accounting, for it’s gone missing.” Ah, unfortunate for the lady there was one accounting for it. “I would have noticed it gone before this moment,” she carried on.

He winced at her inane ramblings. God, he detested the infernal prattling of the innocent misses. Only… He eyed her with a renewed interest; this woman who could, nay would, lead him to her friend and, ultimately, that friend’s ruination. He’d be served by ingratiating himself to the lady. In so doing, it would lessen his dependence on the lady’s drunken, whore-mongering father.

“Hullo?” she called out, a question in her tone.

Drawing on the hint of remembrance of the charming, youthful man who’d once inspired smiles in a lady, he said in a teasing voice, “I gather you’re unable to free yourself.”

She nodded, the movement awkward at the upended angle of her body. “Indeed,” she said, with an almost eagerness that he’d followed the direction of her thoughts. “Only, I leaned too far, and how was I to know Lord Delenworth should have a cherub with a spear jutting out from the edge of the balustrade?” He rubbed his temples to dull a sudden megrim brought on by the lady’s prattling. “Alas, I’ve caught a lace ruffle of my gown upon the—”

“Will you not shut up?” he bit out. Her innocent ramblings came to an immediate cessation. He closed his eyes and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in for patience.

“Did you tell me to shut up?” Her indignant question slashed into his thoughts.

Despite the outrage in her tone, her question provided the opportunity to rectify his rash misstep. Edmund leaned over the edge and the lady flinched at his nearness. “Indeed not, my lady.” She hesitated, unblinking like an owl. “I’d asked if you needed help getting up.”

“Oh.” Then she smiled widely and in that moment, he was struck by the staggering truth that the lady was a good deal more interesting than the plain, unmemorable creature he’d eyed in the ballroom. She was rather…pleasant. Granted, rather pleasant had never roused any great desire inside him, but it made his intentions to spend time with Miss Honoria Fairfax’s friend, at least…palatable. “Oh, well, of course, that makes a good deal more sense than you being so rude as to tell me to shut up.” If she thought a mere shut up was rude, the lady’s head would spin if she knew even a hint of his debauched behaviors through the years. “Forgive me.” He’d forgive her anything if she ceased her infernal carrying on.

With a tug, he freed the lady’s gown from Delenworth’s spear. Or rather the man’s cherub’s spear.

“Splendid,” the lady exclaimed.

He didn’t care to think about old, portly Delenworth plowing this one over the side of this same balustrade. An unlikely pairing those two would be. He scowled. Why in blazes should he care whether Miss Phoebe Barrett was plowed by anyone? The lady fiddled with her hideously ruffled ivory skirts, drawing his gaze downward and providing him a welcome diversion from his confounded thoughts. He lingered a moment upon that generous bosom. Creamy white. Lush. Begging for a man’s attention.