Read The Heart of a Scoundrel for Free Online Page B

placing much needed space between them. Desperate to give her fingers some task, she ran them over the pink peonies, curled tightly in rest for the spring night. “I’ve learned to be cautious where a gentleman is concerned.” She leaned forward and drew in the sweet, fragrant scent of the bud.
    He narrowed his eyes to impenetrable slits, following her every movement. “And has there been a man who has hurt your heart, Phoebe?”
    Phoebe, he called her Phoebe again, and that menacing, possessive whisper that was her name hinted of a man who’d likely stalk off and cut the cad if she gave a name. “Just—” my father. She pressed her lips into a tight line. “No one,” she said at last, unwilling to trust this man she’d only just met with those protective pieces she carried close to her heart. “No one has hurt me.”
    “You wear a frown,” he said quietly, boldly touching a finger to the corner of her lips. “A young woman such as you should not know this sadness.”
    A protestation sprung to her lips. She wasn’t sad. She had a loving mother who was more friend than anything else. She had a brother and sister she would have walked across the coals of hell for, and she knew would do the same for her. And yet…there was sadness. The gold flecks in his eyes glinted with knowing, but he said nothing, for which she was grateful. Instead, he bent down, and she studied him curiously as he fiddled with something upon the ground, and then he stood. She widened her eyes at the rose he’d managed to free from the bush. “What is that?” she blurted.
    The subtle twitching of his lips was incongruously hard with that gentle movement. “It is a rose. To remember our meeting.” He held it out. He set his mouth in a serious line, driving back all earlier teasing. “I’d not have there be sadness between us, Phoebe.”
    She eyed it cautiously. “And should I remember this meeting?” Her cheeks warmed at the boldness of her own question.
    “Undoubtedly,” he said in that smooth baritone that washed over her.
    She claimed the flower and drew it close to her heart. The sweet, fragrant hint of the bloom wafted about the air, wrapping her in this magic pull, a product of the spring night and the forbiddenness of their exchange.
    “She is not here,” a young lady’s impatient voice cut through the quiet.
    “But I saw her go down the hall. Where else would she be?”
    God love her friends for being so devoted as to set out in search of her. And yet, why was there this tug of regret?
    Gillian spoke on a hushed whisper. “You do not believe something sinister has befallen—”
    Honoria snorted. “You’re so fanciful, Gillian. Nothing sinister happened to her and she is not here. We’ve walked the entire length and she’s not…”
    Had anyone else discovered her with Edmund, the Marquess of Rutland, there would be nothing but a hasty union based on her own ruin.
    Silence.
    Then the shuffling of slippered feet as the two ladies scrambled down the stone steps and stole into Lady Delenworth’s gardens. She looked about, momentarily contemplating escape, but too late. Her friends found her. They staggered to a stop with their mouths agape, their eyes widened in a blend of horror and shock.
    Heat splashed Phoebe’s cheeks and she unwittingly took a step closer to the marquess.
    “Phoebe?” Gillian asked. There was skepticism in that one-word utterance.
    “The same,” Phoebe said, in an attempt at nonchalance.
    Honoria’s wide, brown eyes alternated rapidly between Edmund and Phoebe. “What is the meaning of this?” she hissed. “Come away from him this instance, Phoebe Eloise Barrett,” she snapped in the same angry tones of a mama who’d discovered her daughter…well…just as Phoebe had been discovered—in a compromising position.
    Edmund remained stoically silent. His dark gaze lingered upon Honoria and then he returned his attention to Phoebe. “I should leave,” he admitted, taking a step