Free The Secrets of a Scoundrel by Gaelen Foley

made a huge mistake.
    But one thing was clear. If Nick needed to be treated like a convict, as she had been warned, then that was precisely what she’d do.
    If he was not already long gone.
    The drizzly morning’s chill seeped into her bones and made steam rise from her horse’s spotted hide. The bare, sparse branches raked the leaden skies overhead; from beneath her horse’s flying hooves, chunks of emerald turf flew up as she cantered across the green expanse of lawn.
    But when she guided Trebuchet into the woods, following the well-worn path to the cave, the thick blanket of wet fallen leaves crushed underfoot filled the damp air with the smell of autumn.
    Surely, Nick was not that dishonorable, she thought, her stomach still churning with dread as the muddy path rose toward the cave’s mouth. He might be many things, but surely he would not abandon her when she had explained how he was the only one who could help her get the required game piece to the vile Bacchus Bazaar.
    Innocent girls’ lives were at stake.
    As the cave’s mossy entrance came into sight, she decided that if he was not in there—if he was gone—then she had truly misjudged him. And for that matter, so had her sire. Trying not to jump to conclusions, she would not have to wait much longer to find out.
    Arriving at the cave, she dismounted, steadied her gelding, then tied his reins around a nearby tree.
    Still clutching the riding crop, she lifted the hem of her walking dress to slog through deep mud up to the ankles of her boots, clambering up to the slippery stone entrance of the cave.
    The bubbling pool of medicinal waters lay at the end of the murky tunnel. Inside, the cave was dark and warm, filled with hollow, dripping sounds. The mineral smell was strong, but Gin quickly got used to that.
    Trailing a gloved hand along the smooth limestone wall of the tunnel to guide her on her way, she ventured into the darkness while her eyes adjusted.
    Halfway down the tunnel, she saw a glow of light ahead. The staff left oil lamps and fresh towels here, knowing the hot springs were often used. But Gin remained cautious.
    Just because the lamp was lit did not mean her guest was still here. It could be another ruse, meant to buy him time. Her heart pounded as she neared the end of the tunnel, stopping just in time to avoid stepping with her mud-coated boots on a pile of clothes near her feet.
    She looked down at them and felt a rush of hope, then immediately glanced ahead toward the pool.
    Her knees went weak with relief.
    He was there, lounging in the water—his black hair slick with moisture, his arms spread wide, elbows resting along the stone edge of the pool.
    With his head tipped back, his eyes were closed, the harsh angles of his face softened with sensual pleasure.
    Gin swallowed hard at the sight of his glistening body. She stepped around the pile of his clothes, drifting nearer, her heart pounding. His lifted his lashes and gazed at her with a lazy smile, the fire in his coal black eyes banked to a golden glow. “Am I ever glad I listened to you,” he greeted her in a purr.
    Gin smiled, hoping that the riot of her emotions upon finding him here did not show too plainly on her face. She was so relieved he had not run off on her that she did not know what to say.
    Secretly chastened that she had doubted him, she tried her best to seem natural—and not to stare too much. With a discreet gulp, she lowered her gaze to toy with her riding crop.
    Nick eyed the object curiously. “Just what are you planning on doing with that, dare I ask?”
    “Oh, um, nothing. I just . . . forgot to leave it in the saddle holder. I rode up here,” she added.
    “Ah.” He nodded slowly, staring at her. Reading her once again, she feared. “Are you going to join me?”
    Her eyes widened; her head snapped up to meet his gaze.
    “The water’s blissful,” he added, his midnight eyes full of dangerous invitation.
    This from a man who had informed her in no