Free Scoundrel Ever After (Secrets and Scandals) by Darcy Burke Page A

imagine her sailing for an unknown land, her hair exhibiting a similar independence and working its way completely free from its reins, blowing haphazardly and beautifully in the salty breeze. He could join her, start anew in America.
    What a load of horseshit. He was Ethan bloody Jagger. No, Lockwood . Son of a viscount and brother to a viscount. He was not going to run off with his tail between his legs. He wanted the life he deserved, the life he’d just begun to taste at his brother’s side.
    He turned and looked at Audrey sleeping. And imagined the life he might’ve led if his father hadn’t died. Or if his mother hadn’t died and left him with nothing. Or if Davis hadn’t recruited him. Or if he hadn’t so easily and thoroughly allowed himself to be corrupted.
    Looking back, it seemed everything was destined to happen as it did. No matter how much he wanted things to be different, he couldn’t change who he was, who he was likely always meant to be: a criminal.

    A UDREY AWOKE JUST after the sun rose. She wasn’t typically an early riser, but she also didn’t typically share a bed. With anyone, let alone a man . The barrier she’d placed between them was still in place. She peeked over it. Mr. Locke was on his back, his good arm flung above his head, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks. She stared at those lashes, marveling at how long and luxurious they appeared, completely unfair for a man to possess. Audrey wished hers were that spectacular. Instead, they were just brown and somewhat nondescript. Like the rest of her.
    In repose, Mr. Locke looked younger. His ink-dark hair was thick and in need of a trim. His beard was longer still, and Audrey was surprised to find she still found it attractive. Despite the growth of hair, his chin was squared and strong. He might look youthful in sleep, but he also exuded a power and magnetism that was undeniable. At least to her.
    Mr. Locke’s eyes shot open and he was suddenly on top of her. He’d rolled like quicksilver, pinning her to the mattress.
    She gasped—both with surprise and with the shock of his masculine body pressed atop hers. He was hard and muscular, and for the first time in her life she felt dainty and impossibly feminine.
    His gray eyes focused on her, but she couldn’t immediately discern what he was thinking. Then his brow arched and he drawled, “Good morning” without sounding the least bit apologetic.
    “I beg your pardon,” she said, trying desperately not to blush in his presence for the thousandth time.
    He stared down at her, studying her face. His hands were on either side of her head while his hips were settled firmly against hers.
    She squirmed beneath him, which only served to heighten the closeness. Shards of heat sparked between her legs, and made her want to invite him to do more.
    He rolled off her, gently, so that his hips brushed hers as he retreated to his side of the bed.
    She jumped up, eager to put space between them. “Was that necessary?”
    He massaged his bandaged arm. “We’re in a precarious situation. I’m on my guard.”
    “You thought I posed a threat?”
    “Not you exactly. I didn’t immediately process who you were. Forgive me if I’m not used to waking up beside beautiful young society misses.” He swung his legs off the side of the bed.
    He thought her beautiful? Warmth suffused her. He’d paid her similar compliments when she’d taught him to waltz, had flirted with her, but she’d written it off as a gentleman’s charm. He was ridiculously handsome, and men who looked like him flirted with everyone. Well, everyone except her.
    She fetched his shirt and helped him don the garment, working to keep her gaze averted from the muscles rippling in his back and chest and arms. He had muscles everywhere. It was very disconcerting. Once he was covered, she took a deep, sustaining breath. Much better.
    She brought his boots over and tugged them up his calves after he’d stuck his foot inside.