Read Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) for Free Online Page A

cool marble smooth under his bare feet. He went to the balustrade and stared out at the Mediterranean, wondering how many miles it was to England, how long it would take to get there.
    The question vexed him occasionally, but the answer didn’t matter. Not when he had no intention of leaving. He spun to grab his robe and to his stunned surprise, Sister Faithful was standing on the other side of the pool, gaping at him in all his nude glory.
    He couldn’t guess which of them was more astonished. Her mouth dropped open in shock and, scoundrel that he was, he didn’t cover himself or hide what she shouldn’t see. He was unaccustomed to having visitors, and he often roamed about naked as Adam in the Garden, especially when he was bathing.
    She was holding a towel and a bar of soap, so obviously she’d come to wash too. Apparently she hadn’t been warned that Chase might be using the spot or that there was more than one pool. From the very first, he’d claimed it as his own, and he didn’t relish the notion of sharing.
    He shook his head in disgust. Already everything was changing, and he didn’t like it.
    “Hello again, Sister Faithful,” he said. “It appears you have me at a disadvantage.”
    “Mr. Hubbard! I…I…”
    It was all she could manage. He grinned his devil’s grin, having no idea how to repair what would likely remain the most awkward interval of his life. She whipped away and ran, as he sighed. After such a dreadful incident, how would they ever interact in a rational manner?
    Sister Faithful had definitely gotten an eyeful, and he was vain enough to be delighted that she’d observed him in his current physical state. He was slender and lithe as Da Vinci’s statue of David, his skin tanned and toned, his muscles long and lean. And his cock…
    Well, thank heaven he hadn’t been hard as stone. She’d been saved from that horror at least.
    “Dammit,” he muttered, speculating over what to do.
    Should he chase after her? Should he wait until supper and pull her aside before the meal for a private conversation? Or was it better to pretend it simply hadn’t happened?
    That seemed impossible.
    Without a doubt—from this moment on—she would never bump into him without stammering and blushing.
    The desert air had already dried him. He tugged on his trousers, a silky garment that was flowing and cool and comfortable, then he headed in the direction she’d gone, which he assumed was to her room.
    He was barefoot and hadn’t bothered with a shirt, but when he’d stopped behaving like an Englishman he’d stopped dressing like one. Nor had he any of his old clothes. They were all lost when the pirates had thrown him overboard, so the only items available were what had been left behind when the villa’s prior owner had fled.
    It was easy to locate her. The bedchambers all looked out at the sea. She was lodged in one on a corner, on a promontory that offered spectacular views. He halted in the doorway, watching as she paced.
    She was wringing her hands and mumbling, and he was greatly humored by her distress. For goodness sake, she’d just seen some male skin. He was sure she’d survive.
    “Sister Faithful,” he said.
    She gasped and whirled around. “What are you doing in here?”
    “I thought we should talk.”
    “About what?”
    “About you stumbling on me while I was bathing.”
    “I most humbly apologize.”
    “There’s no need.”
    “A servant told me I could wash, and I didn’t think…I never paused to…I never considered that…” She slapped her palms to her heated cheeks. “I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”
    Up until that instant, he hadn’t realized that she’d removed her wimple.
    Her hair was down and brushed out, curling over her shoulders in a lush, auburn wave. It was a striking shade he’d never previously observed on a female. He’d grown up in England where every woman seemed to be blond, and he’d spent more than a year in Egypt where all the