Never Love a Scoundrel by Darcy Burke Page A

creased beneath the wide brim of her bonnet. She looked quite fetching today, with delicate blond curls framing her lovely face. “I’m on my way to visit Mrs. Lloyd-Jones next.”
    “Ah, just a few houses down the street, so I needn’t offer you a ride.” He felt a stab of disappointment, but reminded himself she was—for now—the enemy. Or at least aligned with one. And his enemy’s friends were his enemies, weren’t they? Still, he couldn’t resist a bit of provocation. “Although inviting you into my coach would’ve been terribly improper of me.” Particularly with her footman standing twenty or so paces distant.
    She tipped her head to the side and gave him a coquettish grin. “Don’t you like improper things?”
    He almost laughed at her outrageousness—and she knew it. “I do. Which is why I shouldn’t like you. Nor should I like talking to you in the middle of the street.”
    Her smile grew brighter, more genuine. “I suppose, but I’m glad you are talking to me. You could come with me to see Mrs. Lloyd-Jones,” she said. “I daresay she would like that.”
    “I’m sure you’re right, but I’m afraid I have other business.”
    She glanced away, but then nodded her understanding. “I imagine you’re overwhelmed with invitations after your long absence.”
    Not particularly. He’d received a handful, but after his confrontation with Ethan at the Whitmore Ball, he hadn’t accepted any of them yet. He supposed he must, though the thought of having to conform to Society’s dictates gave him a headache. On the other hand, the thought of allowing Ethan to claim a place while he stayed on the periphery was too grating. He wasn’t proud of his jealousy, but he also couldn’t change it.
    She touched his arm. “Lord Lockwood?”
    The connection of her hand with his arm drew his attention more firmly than her words. It reminded him of their waltz, the single best moment of his recent memory. Dancing was one of the few things he actually missed about Society. “Ah, yes.” He coughed. “I should go.”
    Her fingers closed around his coat sleeve. “Wait. I’m glad I met you here. I’ve been thinking about the other night quite a lot.” Her cheeks flushed a delicate pink.
    She’d been thinking the same thing he had? Dangerous. He hadn’t tangled with a respectable young woman in far too long. Did he even remember the boundaries? He must, otherwise he would’ve swept her into his coach and kissed her senseless.
    Kissed her? His gaze dipped to her lush lips. Oh yes, he wanted to kiss her, and the stiffening of his cock only underscored that fact.
    Boundaries, he reminded himself. He reluctantly withdrew his arm from her grasp.
    She didn’t glance away this time, and he saw the disappointment reflected in her eyes. “I enjoyed our waltz.”
    Don’t speak of it, he silently pleaded, I need to keep you at arm’s length. “As did I, but I shouldn’t expect a second. I wouldn’t want to tarnish your reputation.”
    “Nonsense, dancing with you made me very popular.”
    “As did witnessing the scene in the buffet room.” And then, because he needed to intimidate and discourage her, he tilted his face so that his scar was visible. “Tell me, Lady Lydia, how many times and to how many people did you recount that tale?”
    She stared at him, her lush brown eyes wide. Her lips parted, and he wondered if she only just kept her jaw from dropping.
    “You look surprised by my query.” And guilty. His voice lowered, and he leaned close. “I know your aunt very well. I wondered if you were like her, and I can see from your reaction that you are. How . . . disappointing.”
    “I’m not,” she said, her voice sounding a bit strangled. Her protest only made her look guiltier.
    It was time to go before things became any more uncomfortable. “Good afternoon, Lady Lydia.”
    He climbed into his coach and didn’t look back as he drove away.

    LYDIA’S LUNGS seized and she was afraid for a