Page 13 of Once a Scoundrel

“Yes.” Stephen studied the glowing tip of his cigar. “I’ve resigned my commission.”

Strathmore slid a not-so-subtle glance at the general. “Your idea or your father’s?”

“Mine.” He clamped the cigar between his teeth and mumbled around it, “If the general had his way, I’d be in the cavalry for the next twenty years.”

All four men knew that was only a slight exaggeration.

“Military service does a man good,” his father defended himself.

“Indeed,” Chatham seconded. “The hardest and best years of my life were spent fighting in Spain.”

“Where you also chased Spanish flamenco dancers,” Strathmore reminded him.

“And where we had to repeatedly rescue you from Spanish fathers and husbands,” Grey added.

Chatham laughed, then he cleared his throat and pinned Stephen with a look. “No need to tell your aunt about any of that.”

“Or my wife,” Strathmore agreed.

“Or your mother,” his father finished.

Stephen chuckled and took a sip of cognac. On that, his lips were sealed. Three stronger and more independent-minded women he’d never met than the two duchesses and his mother.

Except perhaps for Faith.

“What are your plans, then?” Strathmore pressed. “What will you do to occupy yourself?”

“I’m a land-owning peer,” he reminded them as unassumingly as possible of the position he was born into, although he didn’t blame them for forgetting. He’d only just come into his majority when he enlisted, and they’d known him before as nothing more than a reckless man-boy who lived his life on the edge of expulsion from university and under constant threat of being shot by a jealous husband. He’d certainly never given them cause to think of him as a responsible man. That was just another one of the many things he planned to change. “Parliament will take up half the year, and Elmhurst Park will occupy the rest.” He wasn’t fond of the estate. The old house was too silent for comfort, too still. But he had plans to change that, as well. “I’ll have more than enough responsibility to fill my time.”

Strathmore returned to his chair. His dark eyes fixed on Stephen. “I’ve heard rumors about how you’ve been spending your time.”

Stephen held his gaze. He’d known this fight was coming, which was one of the reasons he’d sought out the three men out tonight. The military had taught him that it was always better to be the one dictating the terms of battle. “You mean that nonsense about Mary Halstead.”

Damn those rumors. And damn those old busybody hens who had nothing better to do than spread nasty untruths about the most vulnerable of people.

“She had to leave India unexpectedly,” he explained, unwilling to go into more detail than that, but he was certain the three men knew why. “She had nowhere to go, so I let her stay in one of the cottages at Elmhurst. She’ll be moved by next month.”Ifhis plans for his visit here went as he hoped.

Strathmore silently raised his glass to take a sip, yet his expression told Stephen that he didn’t believe him.

But Stephen didn’t argue further, knowing that any protest would only add toward his guilt. He was careful not to let any emotion show in front of the man who had raised him as if he were his own son and the two dukes who had been like second fathers to him. They were worried about him, but the devil take their interference.

“You should be careful, Stephen,” his father put in, concern in his voice. “A woman in Miss Halstead’s position—”

“Mrs.Halstead,” he corrected. A bald-faced lie. She wasn’t married, but he’d be damned if he let anyone criticize her any more than necessary.

“A woman in her position,” the general tried again, “especially if she has a son to raise, might see a wealthy peer as a path to fortune. She might do anything to gain your favor.”

“Gentlemen, I appreciate your concern.” Another lie. While they might have been worried, it sure as hell felt like meddling, and he damned well didn’t appreciate it. “But I assure you that Mrs. Halstead doesn’t view me as a path to anything.”

Except to her ruin.He swallowed down half his cognac, but all the brandy in the world wouldn’t erase his guilt.

“The rumors have it otherwise,” Chatham drawled.

“I’m certain they do.” He shoved himself out of the chair to relight his cigar. “The gossips will just have to be disappointed that they aren’t true.”

“Not that the truth will keep any of those old hens away from a juicy bit ofon dit,” Strathmore put in. “The more unbelievable and outlandish, the better, as far as they’re concerned. They’d rather ruin you than see you vindicated.”

“And in the meantime you might want to consider preventing more rumors,” Chatham suggested. “Avoid gambling and drinking for a while, ease back into society—”