To Sin With A Scoundrel (37 page)

Oh, this was bad.
Bad.
He was growing hard at the mere thought of fruit.

Edging back a touch, Lucas removed his hand from the curve of her hip. Much as he wanted to wake her to another long, languid
session of lovemaking, the temptation was tempered by gentlemanly scruples.

Damnation, it was far more fun being a devil-may-care rake
.

The trouble was, he
did
care. About her and the consequences of their actions. These trysts could not continue. With a certain sort of widow, a regular
assignation could be arranged. But Ciara had a young son. Lucas felt his ardor shrivel. He would not want the boy to hear
nasty innuendos about his mama being a whore.

Her reputation was already slightly scandalous. Given their plans for a spectacularly public jilting, he could hardly carry
on an illicit affair with any hope of it going unnoticed by the gossips.
Bloody hell.
He could just envision the boldface headlines…

Lucas shifted again. There appeared to be just two choices—give her up, or go through with the sham betrothal.

Marriage.

Strange, but the word no longer sent shivers of horror down his spine.

But as for Ciara, he wasn’t quite sure how she would react to the proposal. Granted, she seemed to enjoy their physical relationship.
But any suggestion of a more permanent relationship would certainly be met with skepticism. Her experiences with trusting
a man to take care of her were grim, and the past performances of Mad, Bad Had-ley did not exactly inspire confidence.

Exhaling softly, Lucas watched the play of sunlight flicker over her cheek, her lashes.

“Mmmm.” Ciara stirred and squinted up at the sky. “You are a very bad influence on me, Lord Hadley.”

He gave a guilty start.

A sweet smile softened her chiding. “I never nap away the afternoon. It’s… decadent.”

“Disgraceful,” he murmured, using humor to hide his uncertainty. “Depraved.”

“Disreputable.”

“I am sorry for leading you down the path to perdition,” said Lucas.

Her mouth quirked. “I’m not.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.” Ciara looked out over the sea. “I had allowed my world to become oppressively small.” She toyed with his brass spyglass
and slowly snapped it open. “You have broadened my horizons, shown me new possibilities, Lucas.”

Dare he hope that she could see him in a different light?

The lens slowly swung from the sea to shoreline. “For that I shall always be grateful—” Her words ended in an abrupt gasp.
“Good God, the children!”

“What!”
All amorous thoughts were gone in an instant, replaced by a spasm of alarm.

Lucas wrenched the glass from her hands and trained it on the spot where she had been looking. How the devil had the children
been allowed to stray from the estate? The marshes were treacherous, and the cliffs posed myriad dangers for two children
out wandering on their own.

But as the footpath came into focus, he realized that Peregrine and Isabella were not alone. A cloaked figure was leading
the way through the twisting turns, while a second person had the children captured in his grasp.

Repressing a snarl of impotent rage, Lucas swung the spyglass in a wider arc. The search quickly revealed a small sloop at
anchor in one of the small coves.

Damn him for a fool.
While he had been preoccupied with his prick, Battersham had stolen a march on him.

“Lucas?” Ciara’s voice was trembling.

“Kidnapped,” he replied grimly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart—I’ll not let them get away.” He already had his boots on. “Run home
and send a servant to alert authorities—Henry will know where.”

“No!” Ciara glanced at the jagged cut of rocks and set her jaw. “It will be far too late before any help can be mustered.
I’m going with you.”

“The way is too rough. I will be taking a shortcut.”

“I can make it,” she insisted.

“Be reasonable—”

“Lucas, he is my
son
.”

There was no time to argue. His mouth thinned to a grim line as he took her hand. “Hold on tight. And be prepared for a rough
descent.”

A
shard of stone sheared away under their steps and fell with a splash into the surging surf. Ciara stumbled, fear making her
a little dizzy, but Lucas was right there to steady her footing.

She clutched at his hand, reassured by his hold.
Strong. Sure.
This was not the selfish scamp she had read about oh-so-many weeks ago. Resolve was chiseled in every taut muscle. His expression
was hard as granite, reminding her of Lord Woodbridge’s words in the ballroom—his scapegrace friend just needed a challenge
to bring out the best in himself.

That night seemed so very, very long ago.
Mad, Bad Had-ley had changed beyond recognition.

“Give me your hand.” Lucas swung her over a deep crevasse in the rock. He paused a moment, then fisted her skirts and tore
the fabric, shortening the hem by half a foot. “Take off your petticoat, as well,” he ordered. “The way down from here is
treacherous enough as it is—I don’t want to risk losing you on an errant slip.”

She obeyed in an instant. “Don’t worry about me. All that matters is Perry and Isa.”

His grip tightened. “You are all very dear to me. I don’t intend on allowing harm to come to any of you.”

Light glinted in his eyes as he glanced up, setting off a winking of sapphire ice. Ciara shivered slightly, glad she was not
the enemy.

“Damn,” he growled. “Come, sweetheart, we must try to move even faster.”

Following his gaze, she saw the scudding storm-gray clouds moving in fast from the west. The wind was already gusting, turning
the seas choppy.

“Yes,” she answered, wishing they might sprout wings and swoop down upon the fleeing figures. “Let us fly.”

Slipping, sliding, they descended the steep cut of rock. Her hands were soon scraped and bleeding. Briars tore at her legs;
wind whipped her ragged skirts.

Hurry, hurry.
Their progress seemed so painfully slow, and the strand still appeared miles away.

“We’ll never make it in time,” she gasped, her half boots nearly tripping over the uneven scree.

“Steady, sweetheart,” replied Lucas firmly. “It’s not as far as it looks.” He angled through a cleft in the stone and led
the way down a narrow ledge. “We’re almost there.”

The outcropping took a sharp turn, and then suddenly Lucas disappeared.

Ciara was about to cry out when she heard his voice ring out from below. “You’ll have to jump. I’ll catch you.”

Without hesitation, she stepped off the edge. The drop was not all that great, and Lucas was there, strong and solid, to gather
her in his arms.

For an instant, she was tempted to stay in the shelter of his hold.

“Brave girl,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her windsnarled hair. “They will not escape us now.”

Spying a footpath between the tangled thornbushes, Lucas grabbed her hand and set off at a run.

The way twisted through the coastal thickets, and the loose stones and tangled vines soon slowed their progress.

“Can’t we go any faster?” she asked as Lucas paused to get his bearings.

“I dare not charge ahead too quickly,” he replied. “The way turns a little treacherous up ahead, for there’s a bog where the
mud can be dangerous. If the kidnappers sense pursuit, they may be spooked into doing something rash.”

It was, of course, a sensible reply, but Ciara couldn’t help but chafe at the snail’s pace. Each scrape of her half boots
seemed a harsh chiding on how careless she had been to abandon herself to carnal pleasure.

“I should never have left Peregrine, knowing that he was in danger,” she said aloud. “Perhaps the Sheffields are right, after
all—I’m an unfit mother, a selfish strumpet who—”

Lucas whirled around and gave her shoulders a shake. “Stop it,” he ordered. “You’ve done nothing wrong. Do
not
let their evil lies poison your life, Ciara.”

She choked down a sob. “If I lose Perry—”

“You won’t,” he said firmly. “You must trust me on that. Now keep hold of my hand and stay silent, sweetheart. The footpath
cuts in close to the sea up ahead, and there is a marsh that will slow them down.”

Sure enough, on rounding a thicket of gorse, Ciara spotted the children and their captors. They had halted by the bank of
a wide stream, and the two adults appeared to be engaged in an argument. Despite Lucas’s warning, her breath slipped out in
an audible gasp.

“Ssshhh. We must get closer before they become aware of our presence.” Pointing to a sliver of space between the bushes, Lucas
inched forward. “The sound of the surf will cover our approach.”

The slap of the sea against the rocks echoed the churning in her chest, but she nodded, knowing he was right.

Crouching low, he picked a path down the sloping hillside, using the tussocks of salt grass to muffle their steps. The screen
of thorny leaves allowed them to creep within a stone’s throw of the group, and over the rushing water of the stream, Ciara
could hear the babble of angry voices.

“Idiot! Why did you bring the girl?”

“I couldn’t very well let her go and raise the alarm, could I?” Peeking through the branches, Ciara could see enough of the
near figure to recognize Arthur Battersham. He had hold of both children, and as he spoke, he gave Isabella a nasty shake.
“The little bitch bit my hand. I think it’s bleeding—”

His complaint ended in a shrill curse as Peregrine kicked him in the shin. “You ought to bite your tongue, Cousin Arthur.
Gentlemen aren’t supposed to use bad language around ladies.”

Arthur responded with a hard slap.

“Don’t hit the brat. We may need him unmarked if Richard’s widow insists on negotiating face-to-face.”

Lady Griselda Battersham?
Her late husband’s sister had always been a spiteful, selfish creature, but how could she, a mother herself, actually be
so callously cruel as to contemplate harming another woman’s son?

But before she could react, Lucas slid his hand over her mouth. “Steady, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Let’s try to hear what
they have in mind before I intervene.”

“The Wicked Witch won’t be in a position to dictate terms,” came Arthur’s sulky reply. This time he dodged Peregrine’s boot
and tightened his grip on the boy’s collar. “You said so yourself—she’ll do whatever we ask to get her whelp back.”

What did they want from her?
That she couldn’t answer the question only added to her fear.

“Lud, Arthur, do I have to do all the thinking for both of us?” snapped Lady Battersham. “Try using your brain for once. Of
course we’re not worried about Lady Ciara. On her own, she has no influence or support in Society—a position we have taken
great pains to ensure. However, this liaison with Hadley presents a potential problem.”

“It’s a sham,” said Arthur with a malicious laugh. “He’ll throw her aside as soon as he’s tossed up her skirts.”

In spite of the stranglehold on his collar, Peregrine managed a spirited reply. “No, he won’t—Hadley isn’t a filthy, rotten
scoundrel like you.”

“I’ve always known that your mother’s bad blood has poisoned your veins, cousin,” sneered Arthur. “You should be ashamed of
yourself, siding against your father’s family.”

“My father was a drunk and a bully,” retorted Peregrine. “And so are you.”

“Shut your mouth!” Arthur let go of Isabella to slap him again when suddenly the little girl wriggled free and darted off
over the rocks leading upstream.

“Damn!” bellowed Arthur.

Lady Battersham took a step and then stopped. “Bah, let her go. It will be hours before she finds her way back to the manor
house. Cousin Findley is waiting with the boat, and if we don’t hurry, the tide will change.”

Thank God Isabella was free from their clutches.
Ciara bit her lip. Now, if only her son…

As if mocking her hopes, Arthur grabbed Peregrine with both hands and gave him a rough shove. “Don’t even think of trying
that trick,” he warned. “And you had better hope your mama proves reasonable, cuz.” His low laugh was like the rasp of rusty
metal. “Sailing can be dangerous, especially in these waters. Accidents happen all the time.”

A wave of cold fury washed over Ciara. For an instant, she gladly would have given the gossip columns a grain of truth by
committing murder with her bare hands.

Only Lucas’s strong, steady grip held her in check. “Let me handle things from here.”

“Not so fast.” Stepping out from behind the bushes, Lucas called out a warning. “I think this has gone far enough, Battersham.
Let the boy go.”

Arthur whirled around, his ruddy face betraying a mixture of shock and fear. “What the devil…”

“Trust me, you will wish that you had encountered Lucifer instead of me if you don’t release Perry this instant.”

“Stay out of this, Lord Hadley,” said Lady Battersham. “It’s a family matter that doesn’t concern you.”

Arthur’s bravado came creeping back, encouraged by his mother’s firm words and the pistol he pulled from his coat pocket.
“That’s right,” he said. “You aren’t in any position to be giving orders.”