Free The Scoundrel and I: A Novella by Katharine Ashe Page B

Boney’s boats weren’t yet all in the drink. But no starvation to speak of, thank God.”
    Abruptly she understood his words. She gasped. “I beg—”
    He waved it away. “I prefer a bit of uncertainty, Elle. A man can plan and strategize, stockpile cannons and gunpowder for months. But when the battle’s met he’s got to fly with the instinct of the moment or he’s likely to be sunk.”
    “Not everyone has good instincts.” She had not with Jo Junior.
    “Spoken like a woman who don’t trust hers.” She felt his gaze upon her in the darkness and decided that the captain’s devil-may-care exterior hid a profoundly thoughtful interior.
    “A woman who
does not
trust hers,” she murmured.
    “Made a mistake or two based on faulty instincts, have you, Elle?”
    “Borrowing the type, of course.”
    “Not that sort of mistake.”
    Of course not. The astonishing thing was that she found her lips opening and her tongue forming the word, “Once.”
    “Josiah Brittle Junior?” he said mildly.
    “Yes. I thought I understood his intentions.”
    “Come to find you didn’t after all?”
    “No. My instincts did not prove trustworthy in that instance.”
    “What did he do to you, Elle?” he said in an altered voice. His eyes gleamed like opals in the darkness.
    “Nothing that I did not foolishly allow. We worked together every day. I thought I knew him. I trusted him, and he took advantage of that.”
    “A man who preys upon a woman in his employ ain’t worth the dirt on his boots.”
    “
Isn’t
. But I was naïve. I should not have believed him.” She crunched her hands together in her lap. “I have no idea why I am telling this to you.”
    “Because you know your instincts with me aren’t wrong.” He turned to look out the window and the carriage was drawing to a halt.
    The Mayfair mansion of Lord and Lady Beaufetheringstone was gigantic, with a magnificent entryway of classical proportions jammed with guests and a vast foyer full of people festooned in sparkling gowns, starched neck cloths, and priceless jewels. The ballroom was even grander, a panorama of England’s most exalted elite dressed spectacularly, every one of them laughing and chatting and looking each other over.
    Elle’s hands shook.
    “Now, Princess,” the captain said and took her hand to tuck it into the crook of his arm, “let me do the talking.”
    ~o0o~
    She obeyed. At first.
    “
Wallachia?”
she hissed as they moved away from the Duchess of Tarleton. “I know nothing about Wallachia.”
    “Neither does anybody else here,” he said, feeling her fingertips pressing into his arm, her knuckles against his ribs, and in charity with the entire world. Jane Park had refused him categorically. He would find a way to help her and the little ones—help she would accept. But now he was free and the prettiest girl in the room was on his arm. “Occurred to me that Tarleton’d spent months in Russia after the war. Couldn’t chance it. And foreign princesses from tiny unknown principalities are all the rage these days, don’t you know.”
    “I know nothing of the sort,” she whispered. “And I think Wallachia is actually quite a large country. Where is your uncle?”
    “Just on the other side of that potted palm. Ah, here’s Lady B. Ma’am,” he said, sketching the matron a bow. “Outdone yourself with the festivities tonight, as always.”
    “Captain, who is this goddess and why haven’t you brought her here before?”
    “Princess Magdala of Hungary, may I present to you—”
    “Ladee Bee,” Elle said with a generous roll of her tongue. Bending her head gracefully, she curtsied, a single, sublime dip of her lithe body garbed in diaphanous white fabric that clung to her breasts and legs and left Tony’s senses entirely muddled. Lifting her kohl-rimmed eyes to their hostess again, she said in soft, halting tones, “I am ’appy to be makeeng ov your ac-vaintence.”
    “Well, what a lovely creature you are,” Lady