My Scoundrel Read online

  Praise

  Books By Cheryl Holt

  MY SCOUNDREL

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  About the Author

  “Best storyteller of the year . . .”

  Romantic Times Magazine

  “A master writer . . .”

  Fallen Angel Reviews

  “The Queen of Erotic Romance . . .”

  Book Cover Reviews

  “Cheryl Holt is magnificent . . .”

  Reader to Reader Reviews

  “From cover to cover, I was spellbound. Truly outstanding . . .”

  Romance Junkies

  “A classic love story with hot, fiery passion dripping from every page. There’s nothing better than curling up with a great book and this one totally qualifies.”

  Fresh Fiction

  “This is a masterpiece of storytelling. A sensual delight scattered with rose petals that are divinely arousing. Oh my, yes indeedy!”

  Reader to Reader Reviews

  Praise for Cheryl Holt’s “Lord Trent” trilogy

  “A true guilty pleasure!”

  Novels Alive TV

  “LOVE’S PROMISE can’t take the number one spot as my favorite by Ms. Holt—that belongs to her book NICHOLAS—but it’s currently running a close second.”

  Manic Readers

  “The book was brilliant . . . can’t wait for Book #2.”

  Harlie’s Book Reviews

  “I guarantee you won’t want to put this one down. Holt’s fast-paced dialogue, paired with the emotional turmoil, will keep you turning the pages all the way to the end.”

  Susana’s Parlour

  “. . . A great love story populated with many flawed characters. Highly recommend it.”

  Bookworm 2 Bookworm Reviews

  MY SCOUNDREL

  ALWAYS MINE

  ALWAYS YOURS

  ALWAYS

  JILTED BY A ROGUE

  JILTED BY A SCOUNDREL

  JILTED BY A CAD

  FOREVER

  FOREVER AFTER

  FOREVER MINE

  FOREVER YOURS

  ONLY MINE

  ONLY YOU

  HEART’S DEBT

  SCOUNDREL

  HEART’S DEMAND

  HEART’S DESIRE

  HEART’S DELIGHT

  WONDERFUL

  WANTON

  WICKED

  SEDUCING THE GROOM

  LOVE’S PERIL

  LOVE’S PRICE

  LOVE’S PROMISE

  SWEET SURRENDER

  THE WEDDING

  MUD CREEK

  MARRY ME

  LOVE ME

  KISS ME

  SEDUCE ME

  KNIGHT OF SEDUCTION

  NICHOLAS

  DREAMS OF DESIRE

  TASTE OF TEMPTATION

  PROMISE OF PLEASURE

  SLEEPING WITH THE DEVIL

  DOUBLE FANTASY

  FORBIDDEN FANTASY

  SECRET FANTASY

  TOO WICKED TO WED

  TOO TEMPTING TO TOUCH

  TOO HOT TO HANDLE

  FURTHER THAN PASSION

  DEEPER THAN DESIRE

  MORE THAN SEDUCTION

  COMPLETE ABANDON

  ABSOLUTE PLEASURE

  TOTAL SURRENDER

  LOVE LESSONS

  MOUNTAIN DREAMS

  MY TRUE LOVE

  MY ONLY LOVE

  MEG’S SECRET ADMIRER

  THE WAY OF THE HEART

  My Scoundrel

  Copyright 2020 by Cheryl Holt

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

  Originally Published as Nicholas by Samhain Publishing in 2012

  ISBN: 978-1-64786-504-7 (Print version)

  ISBN: 978-1-64786-526-9 (Ebook version)

  By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferrable right to access and read the text of this book. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, stored in, or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or invented in the future, without the express written permission or the copyright holder.

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  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  Thank you.

  Cover Design Angela Waters

  Print and eBook format by Dayna Linton at Day Agency

  London, May, 1814 . . .

  “Are you sure about this?”

  “Very sure.”

  Emeline Wilson forced a smile as she leaned across the wagon seat and patted Mr. Templeton’s hand.

  He was an older gentleman, an acquaintance from her rural village of Stafford. He’d offered to drive her to London as he brought a load of hides to the tanner. Since she hadn’t had the money to travel any other way, she’d accepted.

  The trip had been bumpy and lengthy and fraught with uncertainties. She was worried over whether she should proceed with her plan, and she still hadn’t convinced herself that she was doing the right thing.

  Nervously, Mr. Templeton pointed to the ostentatious mansion that towered over them. It belonged to Nicholas Price, the new Lord Stafford, a mysterious personage who’d been earl for a year and who no one at the Stafford estate had ever seen or met.

  “The house is awfully grand, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Not as grand as Stafford Manor.”

  “How will you gain entrance?”

  “I’ll simply knock on the door.”

  “Do you think his staff will admit you?”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” she firmly replied.

  Two days earlier, when they’d left home, she’d been brimming with indignation, aggrieved on her neighbors’ behalves, and prepared to slay any dragon as she sought a paltry crumb of justice for them.

  But now, with their having arrived, her confidence was flagging.

  Why had she assumed she could make a difference? Why was she always so eager to carry the burdens of others? Perhaps she should have stayed in the country and kept her mouth shut.

  Unfortunately, it wasn’t her nature to be silent or submissive. She was forever arguing when she shouldn’t, fighting unwinnable battles, and cheering on the less fortunate. Usually to no avail. There were few rewards to be gleaned by
heroics, but she couldn’t stop herself.

  Life was so unfair, catastrophe so random and typically heaped on those least able to withstand the onslaught. If she didn’t comment on inequity, who would?

  Her dear, departed father—the village school teacher and best man she’d ever known—had educated her beyond her needs. She saw problems and the obvious solutions too clearly, and she couldn’t comprehend why the easiest remedies were the hardest to attain. Especially from someone as rich and powerful as Lord Stafford.

  His tenants were suffering egregiously. Crops had failed and conditions were desperate, yet he couldn’t care less. He’d never bothered to visit Stafford. Instead, he’d installed Mr. Mason as his land agent. Mason was a bully and fiend who had been given free rein and unfettered control.

  His sole objective was to put the estate on a sound financial footing, by any means necessary. He implemented his draconian measures without regard to the human cost. Families had been thrown out on the road. Acreage had been confiscated.

  No one was safe from his harsh edicts, not even Emeline. Despite her father’s three decades of loyal service, she—and her two sisters, ten-year-old twins, Nan and Nell—were about to be evicted.

  Mr. Mason had already forced them to relinquish their comfortable house, located next to the manor, in which Emeline had been raised. They’d been relegated to a dilapidated cottage in the woods, and they had to start paying rent or leave, her dilemma being that she had no way of paying the rent and nowhere to live if she didn’t.

  “Should I wait for you?” Mr. Templeton asked, yanking her out of her furious reverie.

  “There’s no need,” Emeline said. “Go make your deliveries, then pick me up at four o’clock as we planned.”

  “It doesn’t seem as if anyone is at home.”

  Emeline studied the mansion. The curtains were drawn. No stable boy had rushed out to greet them. No butler had appeared.

  “Someone will be here,” she asserted. “I have an appointment, remember?”

  It was a small lie, but she told it anyway. She’d written to the earl three times, requesting an audience, but hadn’t received a reply. Finally, in exasperation, she’d written a fourth time to inform him that she was coming to London—whether he liked it or not.

  She couldn’t abide snobbery or conceit, and considering Lord Stafford’s antecedents, why would he exhibit any?

  Twelve months ago, he’d simply been a captain in the army. When the old earl had died without any children, it had been a huge shock to learn that title would pass to Nicholas Price. In an instant, he’d gone from being a common soldier to a peer of the realm. What reason had he to act superior?

  “You asked for an appointment,” Mr. Templeton counseled, “but that doesn’t mean the earl will keep it. His kind doesn’t have to be courteous.”

  “Maybe he should recall that he’s not all that far above us.”

  “Oh, Missy, be careful with your disparaging talk. If you’re not here at four o’clock, I’ll likely be searching for you at the local jail.”

  “Don’t be silly. He wouldn’t have me . . . jailed merely for speaking out.”

  “He’s dined at the palace with the King. That sort of experience tends to alter a fellow. He might do anything to you.”

  “He won’t. He’s an officer in the army. He wouldn’t harm an innocent woman.”

  “You just never know,” he ominously warned.

  “I’ll be fine,” she insisted as a shiver of dread slithered down her spine.

  Afraid that her courage might fail her, she leapt to the ground before she could change her mind.

  “Good luck,” he said.

  “I don’t need any luck,” she boldly retorted. “I have right on my side, and right will always prevail over injustice.”

  She marched off, and he clicked the reins, his horses plodding away. As he departed, she felt terribly alone, as if she’d lost her last friend.

  She gave in to a moment of weakness, to a moment of doubt, then she straightened with resolve.

  “You can do this, you can do this,” she muttered over and over.

  There had been a neighborhood meeting, and in a unanimous vote, she’d been elected to present their grievances to Lord Stafford, to seek some relief from Mr. Mason’s oppressive decrees. She would not return to Stafford without garnering concessions from the earl.

  She climbed the steps and was about to knock, when suddenly, the door was jerked open.

  “It’s about bloody time you arrived,” a man barked. He grabbed her and yanked her inside.

  “What?” Emeline stammered, taken off guard by the peculiar welcome.

  “You were supposed to be here two hours ago.”

  “I was?”

  “He’s probably not sober enough to entertain you now. If he’s foxed to the level of incoherence, don’t expect to be paid.”

  “Paid for what?” she asked, but he didn’t answer. He stormed off, her wrist clasped tightly in his hand, and she stumbled along behind him.

  After being out in the bright sunshine, the vestibule was very dark, and she blinked and blinked, trying to adjust her vision. Before she could get her bearings, she was across the floor and being dragged up the stairs. To slow their progress, she dug in her heels, but the brute who’d accosted her was very large and very irked. She was only five foot five, and she weighed a hundred-twenty pounds. She’d have had more success, attempting to stop a charging bull.

  They reached a fancy hallway and started down it. There was a bit more light, and she caught glimpses of a red coat, a dangling lapel, gold buttons. He was wearing a soldier’s uniform, so he had to be one of Lord Stafford’s cohorts.

  The earl had inherited the earldom, but he hadn’t resigned his commission in the army, and Emeline hadn’t heard that he intended to.

  Evidently, his position in the military was so glamorous that he’d rather continue at it than worry about his responsibilities to the people at Stafford.

  The notion made Emeline’s blood boil. Her life, her sisters’ lives, the lives of everyone she knew, were hanging by a thread, but Lord Stafford was totally unconcerned.

  “Excuse me.” She fought the man’s strong grip, but couldn’t pry herself loose.

  “Excuse me!” she said more sternly, tugging hard and lurching free.

  The man halted abruptly, and he appeared the type who might commit violence. She took a hesitant step back.

  “What is it?” he snarled.

  “I’m . . . I’m . . . here to see Lord Stafford.”

  “Well, of course you are. Why else would you be here?” He frowned, scrutinizing her tattered hat, her worn traveling cloak. “We’ve waited all this time, and this is how you’ve dressed yourself? You could be a fussy governess.”

  “What’s wrong with being a governess? I’m not hoping to impress with my attire.”

  “You’re not? For pity’s sake, don’t you know anything about men and what they like?”

  At his insults, her temper sizzled. She couldn’t help it if she was poor, if she was a week away from being tossed out on the road by Mr. Mason. Through no fault of her own, she was in dire financial straits, and she wouldn’t grovel or apologize for her reduced condition.

  “Of all the rude, uncivil, offensive—”

  He blew out an aggravated breath. “What kind of girls is Mrs. Bainbridge hiring these days? She’s aware of his preferences; he won’t like you.”

  “Why not?” she sneered.

  “Because you’re a frump—”

  “A frump!” she huffed.

  “—and you’re too skinny. And you’re blond. He hates blonds. Mrs. Bainbridge has been apprised that he does. Why she would send you is beyond me.”

  “Who is Mrs. Bainbridge?” she inquired, but he snagged her wrist again and took off.

 
Quickly, and despite her best efforts to pull away, they were at the double doors at the end of the corridor.

  “Can you at least try to look pretty?” he implored. “Pinch your cheeks. Let your hair down.”

  “I don’t wish to look . . . pretty,” she claimed, oddly incensed that he didn’t think she was. “I wish to be listened to and . . . and . . . heeded.”

  “Oh, Lord, spare me. Just what I need: a philosopher!”

  He spun the knob and pushed her over the threshold. As she passed, he made a hasty grab at the combs keeping her neat chignon balanced on the back of her neck. Her tresses tumbled down in a golden wave.

  “Are you insane?” she seethed, twirling to confront him.

  “I’d better not hear any complaint from him,” he snapped in reply. “Now get on with it and get out of here.”

  He slammed the door in her face and turned the key in the lock, trapping her.

  What sort of asylum had she entered?

  She jangled the knob, then pounded on the wood, hissing, “Release me! At once!”

  But she received no answer.

  Bending down, she peeked through the keyhole, and she could see him retreating. She threw up her hands in exasperation, then whipped around to survey the space where she’d been imprisoned.

  Immediate escape was necessary, and she had to either maneuver the lock or find another exit. Since she had no mechanical inclinations, locating an exit was her only option.

  She was sequestered in the sitting room of a grand suite, complete with several inner rooms. Hopefully, there would be servant’s stairs at the rear, and she could flee down them.

  She tiptoed over to the bedchamber, and it was empty. Breathing a sigh of relief, she hurried into it, but she shielded her eyes so she wouldn’t glimpse the enormous bed in the middle. It was large and ornate, designed for a king. The blankets were on the floor, the pillows strewn about, so the maids hadn’t been in yet, or perhaps there were no maids.

  What self-respecting female would work in such a madhouse?