Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) by Cheryl Holt Read Free Book Online

by his chest again. “Would you…ah…put on a shirt?”
    “I don’t have one.”
    “You don’t have one?”
    “No. I lost my bags in an incident at sea.”
    “What sort of incident?”
    “My friend, Mr. Robertson, and I were set upon by pirates. They threw us overboard.”
    Her jaw dropped. “That’s the most heinous thing I’ve ever heard.”
    “Yes, we both thought it was a tad despicable.”
    “But you survived.”
    “Barely. We drifted up on the beach some months ago, but I don’t have a shirt. I only have the garments some native fellow left in his closet when he moved out.”
    She peeked up at him. “This house isn’t yours?”
    “No. When we stumbled on it, it had been abandoned—except for some of the servants.”
    “You’re a squatter.”
    “Without a shirt to my name.”
    They were standing so close, and though it was very strange, there was the most incredible surge of energy flowing from him to her. It was almost electric, as if the air was charged with a powerful force. He’d never felt anything like it, and he scowled, curious as to what might be causing it.
    Gradually it dawned on him that he must be physically attracted to her, and he wasn’t surprised to find himself enticed. He was a rogue and womanizer and with her being a nun, she was so unavailable to a romantic advance that she might have been an angel up in Heaven.
    But her unavailability made her more alluring than she should have been. She was a challenge, and he was disgusted to note that wicked notions were careening through his mind. Apparently he was sufficiently contemptible that he’d consider seducing a nun. He’d like to try it merely to discover if he could succeed.
    Wasn’t that the vilest prospect ever? Was there no idea so suitably depraved that he’d discount it? Evidently not.
    “You’ve never seen a nude man before, have you?” he asked.
    “Of course not. When would I have?”
    “I’m sorry to have shocked you.”
    “I was shocked. And exceedingly embarrassed.”
    “I’m finished bathing now though, so you can have your own bath.”
    “I wouldn’t dare. I didn’t realize the pool was out in the open. I couldn’t wash in such a public place.”
    Prim as a nun , he mused and a very British girl to boot, but he should have expected complete modesty. It was the norm everywhere but the isolated spot where they were currently located.
    “You can’t refuse to bathe, Sister Faithful. You must be dying in this heat.”
    “I am very hot.”
    “I’ll send a maid to you. There’s another pool that’s more secluded. You’ll be more comfortable there.”
    “Thank you.”
    “I’ll see you at supper.”
    “You will?”
    “Yes. Haven’t you met Mr. Robertson? He went off to invite you.”
    “No, I haven’t met him.”
    “You’ll like him more than me.”
    She chuckled miserably. “Why would you suppose so?”
    “He’s courteous and sociable.”
    “You’re not?”
    “I can be if I try, but usually it’s easier to be cantankerous.”
    “I’ll be sure to remember that about you.”
    Their banter rumbled to a halt, and they dawdled, staring.
    It was the darnedest sensation, but it seemed as if he’d known her for years, as if they’d always been close. A thousand comments were rolling toward the end of his tongue, desperate to spill out.
    He wanted to tell her secrets he’d never told another person, wanted to confide all that had happened in Cairo, how he’d betrayed his best friend, how he’d ruined their relationship, probably forever. He wanted to tell her how alone he’d always been, how he’d always yearned to belong and to fit in. He wanted to confess the terror he’d experienced when the pirates had attacked their ship, when he’d figured he was about to be murdered.
    He was positive she’d understand and that she would say exactly the right remarks in reply. He’d feel better, would be more content.
    He narrowed his focus, anxious to see her more clearly, to glean some