Page 3 of Once a Scoundrel

He placed her hand on his arm and led her onto the floor.The couples took their positions, then bowed and curtsied before launching into a series of turns and sashays.

As she worked her way down the row toward the head of the line, not missing a step in her bobs and turns, Faith took surreptitious glances at Stephen. She watched from the corner of her eye as he crossed the room to greet her mother and father and then greeted his aunt and uncle, the Duke and Duchess of Chatham, before finally turning to his own parents. He shook the general’s hand and lowered his head to allow his mother to kiss his cheek. When Lady Emily fussed over the way his valet had knotted his snow-white cravat in the latest minimalist fashion, Faith fought back a smile at his expense. Mothers never changed, no matter how old or troublesome their sons.

He’dcertainly changed in appearance, though.

Despite being dressed in the same black and white formal attire as every other man in the room, right down to the black tailcoat worn open to reveal the intricately embroidered silk waistcoat beneath, nothing about him was ordinary. As if to impress that point, he’d forgone proper shoes for a pair of well-worn boots. They were the only indication in his apparel that he’d spent the last four years on horseback in the army rather than haunting the clubs on St. James’s Street, yet no one could overlook the proud and straight-spined military bearing he wore like a uniform. A demeanor that distinguished him from every other young man in the room.

His boyish features were gone, and in their place was solid man. Only those deep blue eyes, the curly black hair he still wore unfashionably long, and that charming half-grin that curled at his lips were the same.

Oh, how she remembered that grin! Faith had always found Stephen dashing and his scandalous nature secretly thrilling, even when she’d been a girl in the schoolroom and he’d been at Harrow. All those years when she stared after him dreamily while he’d paid her as much mind as a chair, she’d hoped that someday he might notice her as something other than Strathmore’s daughter. That he might finally do more than make her stare after him longingly and sigh whenever he gave her the smallest compliment. That he might dare to kiss her in some dark garden the way he was rumored to do with other ladies...

Then he did.

And now her foolish heart regrettedeverwanting that.

The dance ended. The ladies twirled back into their original positions as the last notes died away.Billingsbyled her off the dance floor, taking the long way around the room to return her to her friends. And the way furthest from Stephen so she couldn’t get a better look at him, not even when she cranedher neck.Notthat she wanted to see him anyway. He meant absolutely nothing to her now, she told herself. And someday she hoped to believe that.

“Dunwich’s arrival has created quite a stir,” Billingsby commented.

“As always,” she muttered, the familiar anger at Stephen tightening her chest.

When Billingsby glanced down at her, puzzled at her tone, she forced a smile. After all, he was a friend of the family, so she needed to be polite to him, and he was only here for the evening. Thank goodness. Because she didn’t like the way he kept staring at her. As if a giant stain covered her bodice.

“Your family is close to his, I understand,” he added.

“Very.” Although she wished with all her heart that they weren’t. Then she wouldn’t have to see Stephen again or speak to him...or pretend he hadn’t wounded her.

“I’m certain you’ve heard the latest rumor, then.”

Her smile faded. “You mean the untruth that he’s keeping a mistress?” Surely Billingsby realized what a boor he was to spread gossip about a family friend to her face.

“Not just keeping her—”

She sniffed haughtily. No, apparently the man had no sense of vulgarity.

“—but herandher son, whom he refuses to acknowledge as his.”

Her heart skipped. Anillegitimateson? Impossible. Even from a scoundrel like Stephen. “You are mistaken, sir.”

“Then so is half of London.”He seemed amused at her defense of the marquess—Lord knew Faith was puzzled over it herself—but he didn’t notice that she’d put as much room betweenthem as possible in the crush while still holding onto his arm. By her fingertips. “You know as well as I how rumors start. There’s always a grain of truth at the heart of each.”

“Thenthatrumor is the exception.” Her chest tightened until each hard beat of her heart made it difficult to breath. How on earth had she managed to find herself defending Stephen, the very last man she should be championing? “Dunwich is a peer who has given the last four years of his life in service to his country.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, as if finally realizing that he’d overstepped. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. I just—” The words choked around the knot in her throat.

Oh bother! She’d sworn to herself that she wouldn’t let Stephen’s presence at Hartsfield Park upset her. Yet her eyes stung with unshed tears, and she trembled. Not with sadness, but anger. At Stephen for the way he’d so cavalierly treated her...and at herself that she still let him distress her.

She pulled her hand away. “Excuse me. I—I need a glass of punch.”

“I’d be happy to fetch—”

She walked away before he could see the hot tears glistening in her eyes. And what a relief that for once he was left staring at her back instead of her bosom. Of course, if Grace’s husband found out that she’d just cut the man, she’d never hear the end of it from her sister. At that moment, though, she couldn’t care less.

With trembling fingers, she took a glass of punch from the refreshments table, then welcomed the relief when the drink washed away the knot in her throat and helped ease the pounding of her heart.

The orchestra sent up the opening flourishes of the next dance. A waltz.