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

hint as to why she was stirring such peculiar sentiments, but he hadn’t a clue. So he stepped away, the flow of energy stopping as quickly as if he’d snuffed out a candle.
    “Until supper,” he said, and he whirled away and hurried out before he could tarry and babble like a maudlin, ridiculous idiot.

CHAPTER THREE
    “You were awfully quiet during supper.”
    “I have to tell you something.”
    Faith grabbed Rowena and dragged her into the shadows for a private whispering session.
    Since she’d stumbled on Mr. Hubbard exiting his bath, she hadn’t had a chance to confess the humiliating incident to Rowena, and the secret was driving her mad.
    They’d just finished a delicious meal, and throughout the repast, Mr. Hubbard had been pleasant and charming, almost as if he was someone other than the taciturn grouch she’d initially encountered.
    She thought Mr. Robertson had a positive influence on Mr. Hubbard’s character. The younger man was friendly and chatty, and whenever it seemed Mr. Hubbard might descend to dismals or sarcasm, Mr. Robertson yanked him from the ledge.
    The conversation had been invigorating, the food marvelous, and the company interesting, but Faith couldn’t set aside her chagrin or apprehension.
    The two men didn’t own or rent the villa. They’d stumbled into it after their horrific incident at sea. Their presence was no more lawful or official than hers, and she was terrified that the true owner might arrive and kick them out.
    More importantly, she didn’t know how she was supposed to act around Mr. Hubbard. She’d tried to avoid eating in the dining room, but Mr. Robertson had insisted. He’d invited the girls too and had allowed them to sit at the table with the adults, and their presence had been a boon for Faith.
    Mr. Robertson had peppered them with questions about their parents, their schooling, their life in Rome, so Faith hadn’t been required to contribute to the discussion.
    She’d dawdled like an invisible lump, vaguely listening to the girls chatter and taking furtive glances at Mr. Hubbard, which he studiously ignored. He’d behaved as if nothing had happened, as if he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, and she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or incensed by his discounting of the event.
    How could he be so nonchalant? But then he was a libertine. He’d probably cavorted with dozens of women. He probably had women view him naked all the time. He probably enjoyed it.
    Faith was unbearably disturbed by the episode. He was incredibly beautiful, if such a phrase could be used to describe a man. The sight of him—tanned and virile and completely at ease with his body—had left her jittery and confused. She felt hot and cold all over, and she was constantly flushed and quivery.
    She’d had scant interaction with men. Before becoming a novitiate, her only genuine amour had been with her cousin Lambert who had hoped to marry her and ultimately be named her father’s heir.
    He’d refused to accept that she wouldn’t marry him, and it had been the main reason pushing her to the convent. Her father had demanded she wed Lambert, and she couldn’t obey.
    As a child growing up in a house without a mother and a father who was never home, her nanny had been a Catholic and had filled Faith’s head with stories about the saints. She’d made it sound so romantic and special to be a nun, so when Lambert had proposed, Faith had announced her pious intentions.
    It had been a simple choice. She didn’t think she was like other women, didn’t believe she was overly attracted to men or could suffer passionate feelings for them.
    Rowena was the perfect example of such a female. She’d lived at the convent for five years, having been locked away against her will when she was fifteen. She never stopped obsessing about amour, wondering what sort of husband she might have had if her parents hadn’t been so cruel and impossible.
    Faith had never fretted over such wicked issues,