Page 11 of Once a Scoundrel

He gave a jerky nod. Even in the shadows, his expression was dark, his shoulders heavy with responsibility.

She rose and stepped slowly toward him. “You did a wonderful thing.”

“Did I?” The bitterness in his voice surprised her.

“Yes,” she said with as much conviction as possible, laying a hand on his arm. “Because of you, she’s safe, and her child has a chance for a good life.”

“Living off my charity, uncertain of the future, the center of vicious gossip and rumors?” He stepped back to pull himself free from her touch and shook his head. “They’re in this situationbecauseof me.” He hesitated only a heartbeat before confessing, “Because I killed Daniel.”

Her chest tightened at the anguish flitting across his face. “That’s not true.”

“I gave the order to charge,” he countered, his eyes somber.

She stared at him, for the first time clearly seeing how much guilt and remorse he carried inside him over Daniel’s death. He’d wrongly blamed himself, and now he felt obligated to piece together the future that Daniel’s death had shattered, even at the price of his own reputation. She said firmly, “You didnotkill him, Stephen.”

“I did. And I have spent the last two years coming to terms with that, struggling to understand why him.” A haunted expression marred his handsome face. “Why me.”

“It was a battle, and men die in battle,” she insisted breathlessly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, as if trying to accept that truth. But grief and guilt gripped him hard, and her heart melted for him.

For the first time since he’d left, she was able to let go of the anger she felt for him. In its place came forgiveness and a longing to comfort him.

Whispering his name, she lifted onto her tip-toes and rested her palm against his cheek in an attempt to reassure him. Every ounce of her wanted desperately to heal the wounds they both carried inside them. To finally let go of the past and move on.

“You have to forgive yourself,” she murmured as she lowered herself away. “Youhaveto...”

He pursued, cupping her face between his hands to keep her close. Hismouth lowered to hers—

“Don’t,” she protested softly, turning her face away. She’d only wanted to ease his troubles, not encourage him to kiss her. Fresh pain blossomed inside her for him, for the torment he felt at Daniel’s death...and for her own foolish heart, which pounded furiously for him despite knowing better.

He lifted his head and stared down at her, his dark eyes glowing with emotion. “I need this, Faith, more than you know,” he admitted in a breathy whisper. “And so do you.”

Slowly, he lowered his mouth again to kiss her.

She broke out of his hold and stepped back. Immediately she missed his warmth and strength, regretted the loss of the promise of his kisses. And the way he looked at her, his eyes afire, as if only a thread of restraint kept him from sweeping her into his arms and carrying her away into the dark garden—

He hadn’t changed at all.

“You shouldn’t try to kiss me like that,” she whispered. Folding her arms across her chest to keep herself from reaching for him—or slapping him, she’d yet to decide which—she shook her head. “You had no right. And I don’t want you to.”

He quirked a dubious brow at her denial.

Frustration poured through her and burned in the unshed tears in her eyes. Oh, blast the devil!

“Faith?” Her mother’s voice cut through the darkness as she approached through the shadows. She saw Stephen and stopped. “Dunwich,” she said tightly, clearly displeased to find him arguing with her daughter in the shadows.

Stephen inclined his head. “Your Grace.”

“I noticed that Faith had been gone from the party for some time, so I came looking for her.” Her eyes moved between the two of them, although thankfully the shadows were too dark for her to see the hot blush on Faith’s face. “Is everything all right?”

“I’m fine,” Faith whispered. Her eyes stung, and she blinked hard to tamp down the fresh frustration and anger. How was it possible that Stephen could still hurt her after all these years?

“You are not fine.” She took Faith’s hand and leveled her gaze on Stephen, her spine straightening in that imperial bearing of hers that would have intimidated the queen. “Is there a reason you’ve upset my daughter?”

“It was nothing,” Faith interjected before Stephen could answer. A stab of guilt at dissembling with Mama shot through her— “We were only talking, about India.”

“We were talking about Daniel Llewellyn,” Stephen corrected quietly.

“I see.” Her mother’s shoulders eased down. The hard gaze she’d given him softened sympathetically, and she linked her arm through Faith’s. “Well, I think there has been enough talk for one evening. Why don’t you come back inside with me, Faith? You can enjoy the dancing.” She paused meaningfully, her gaze fixed on Stephen. “Dunwich, I am certain that you’d like to walk around the gardens for, say, twenty minutes or so?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” he answered, the rake in him completely understanding the meaning behind her request.

With his gaze lingering softly on them, her mother led her back toward the house, mercifully not asking any questions about why she was lingering in the shadows with Stephen. Thank goodness. Because Faith had no idea how she would have answered them.