Page 40 of How to Fall for a Scoundrel
How many times had Harry made the same offer to a woman? She surely wasn’t the first.
Still, there was something refreshing about his honesty. He wasn’t luring her to his home under false pretenses, as so many men might have done. He’d put all his cards on the table and was leaving it up to her to make the call. That in itself was liberating.
She still didn’t entirely trust his motives for being in London. Did he truly want to leave his life of crime behind, or was working with her just a ruse to cover some larger scheme he had planned? She had no idea, but reason warned her not to expect too much, or to involve her heart.
Men like Harry stole hearts as easily as they picked pockets, and she was too sensible to allow herself to be duped.
Oddly, shedidtrust him when it came to the rest of her body. For all his criminal ways, he was a gentleman,and she knew that if she refused his offer, he’d see her safely back to King & Co. with no hard feelings. Several other men of her acquaintance had sulked and then ignored her when she’d politely rejected their advances, but Harry was both more sophisticated and more pragmatic than that.
Tess and Daisy had both enjoyed bedsport—Tess with her husband, Justin, and Daisy with Tom Harding, a childhood friend who’d been tragically killed at Waterloo two years ago. They both talked in the most glowing terms of the pleasure that could be had with a man who knew what he was about.
Harry was a scoundrel, certainly, but she had no doubt that he could bring her physical pleasure. Her attraction to him was like a simmering furnace beneath her skin, and the thought ofnotseizing this moment, of returning to the cold and empty offices of King & Co. alone, seemed like the height of foolishness, something she’d regret forever.
After all, what was she waiting for? At two and twenty she was almost on the shelf, and the few men who’d shown an interest in her had usually done so to impress her father, rather than because of any real attraction. Her independent spirit was regarded as something to be frowned on; she’d have done far better to pretend to be a malleable, empty-headed featherbrain if she truly wanted a husband.
Harry wasn’t matrimonial material, but why shouldn’t she grasp this chance for a reckless, imprudent fling? Provided they took the necessary precautions against pregnancy, there was little danger of her being ruined, and she was aching to know if lovemaking really was as wonderful as it sounded.
She met his gaze, decision made.
“I’m not sleepy yet.”
His pupils darkened and her heart thumped erratically in her chest. Amazed at her own uncharacteristic daring, she looked out of the window, at the darkened streets rushing by.
Harry stayed silent, and in no time at all they pulled up outside a neat white stone mansion.
“Welcome to Cobham House.”
A liveried servant opened the front door and Ellie looked around in interest as Harry took her cloak and removed his own coat. The marble-lined hallway held an array of expensive-looking mirrors, paintings, and gilt sconces.
He indicated a staircase with a wooden banister that curved upward. “My study’s upstairs. Come on.”
The room was decorated in rich burgundy tones, and she crossed to warm her hands in front of the fire that crackled in the grate. Harry poured two glasses of red wine from a decanter on a side table, and she took a sip to steady her jittery nerves.
“So, this is your lair,” she said. “It’s very nice.”
“Thank you. I was delighted to discover the place was furnished. I believe credit for the decoration should go to the Earl of Cobham, but he seems to have been a man with excellent taste. We clearly share a love of beautiful things.”
His eyes rested on her face and, flustered again, Ellie reached up and unfastened the emerald necklace at her throat.
“Speaking of beautiful things, here—have these back before I lose them.” She slipped the bracelet from her wrist, tugged the earrings from her ears, and thrust them toward him. “Please thank your friend for letting me borrow them. They made me feel like a princess.”
Harry held out his hands and received the glittering mass with a solemn smile. “They made you look like a princess. And thank you. I’ll tell him.”
The loss of the jewels made Ellie feel oddly naked; she became incredibly aware of the expanse of skin displayed by the low neckline of the dress, and Harry’s slow sweep of her cleavage didn’t help her feel any less exposed.
She cleared her throat and cast around for something to say as he deposited the jewelry in the drawer of his desk.
“Let’s see the book, then,” he urged, and she blinked. She’d actually forgotten the entire reason for the evening!
She dug in her pocket, slightly surprised that he hadn’t already removed the book with those magical, thieving fingers of his, and held it up to the light.
Both the front and back covers were made of solid, beaten gold, warm to the touch now from being pressed against her body. Smooth, circular jewels were set in a thick band all around the edges, with more bordering a raised image of the Virgin Mary chased in gold in the center.
Ellie traced her fingers over the green emeralds, blue sapphires, and bloodred rubies. Some of them were a little skewed, and irregular in shape, indicating the age of the piece.
She let out a reverent breath. “This must be worth a small fortune.”
“It’s called a treasure binding,” Harry said. “In years past, certain gems were believed to possess magical properties. Diamonds were for healing. Emeralds protected against devils. Sapphires guarded against poisoning.”