Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

“Lied. Yes. Men in my line of work tend to do that.”


Dizzied, Julian put a hand to his temple. From the beginning, everything that had led Julian to believe the attack was intended for him … all of it came from Faraday. And if Faraday had been lying to him the whole time, that meant no one wanted to kill Julian at all. He’d spent the past months seeing phantoms in shadows and tilting at windmills. “But why?”

“I wanted to keep you out of this.” He looked around at Morland and Ashworth. “Bloody amateurs, all of you.” He gestured toward the breakwater with frustration. “I had plans for them, damn it. To be sure, you’re all a bit slow, but it didn’t take me six months to learn who and where they were. I have connections, you know. I could have had these men killed at any time. Fallen overboard. Beaten to death in a prison fight. Shot during an attempted escape. Easiest thing in the world. No one would ever question their deaths, just like no one will question this. Stray shots from the firing range, the report will say. Happens all the time.”

He stared out at the river, toward the spot where the men had disappeared. “This is not what I had planned, damn it. I wanted to deal with them myself. Slowly, and at close range. I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them begging for mercy, and then I wanted the pleasure of denying their sniveling pleas. I wanted my face to be the last thing they ever saw.”

In a sudden fit of rage, he rushed to the platform’s edge and heaved the pistol out into the river. “Bastards!” he called after it, his voice breaking. “Goddamned filthy blackguards. That death was too good for you. I will hunt you down in hell.”

Julian looked to Lily. Her face was a blank mask of shock. How much of all this had she understood?

“Are you well?” he asked his wife, touching her arm.

“I’m not certain.”

Fair enough. At the moment, Julian wasn’t certain of much, either. He swiveled Lily to face Faraday and spoke and signed, “You owe us a great many explanations.”

Faraday nodded slowly. “You’ll have them. The two of you.” He turned to Ashworth and Morland. “As for you two, it’s none of your damn business. Morland, go home. Your ward is in labor.”

“Claudia?” The duke paled. “She’s giving birth?”

“May have done so already. When I left her, the doctor was already there. I couldn’t wait for your wife, but I sent word.”

“Amelia’s there with her,” Lily said. “She and Meredith both. They went back to Morland House straightaway.” To Faraday, she added, “They were at my house when your note arrived. That’s how I knew. I recognized your penmanship.”

“Ah.” Faraday’s eyes warmed. “So he saved the letters, did he?”

Lily nodded. “He did.”

A bittersweet smile curved his lips. “Incorrigible romantic. I expressly told him to burn them all.”

Leo had apparently disobeyed Faraday’s instructions, but to Julian’s eye the man wasn’t displeased. There was no denying it. It would seem the two had been more than mere lovers.

They’d been in love.

Lily took a step toward Faraday. “Mr. Faraday …” She sniffed. “May I hug you?”

Faraday blinked with surprise. His red-rimmed gaze slid sideways, and he gave a slight nod. “I’d welcome that.”

Lily moved forward and embraced the man, wrapping her arms about his shoulders and resting her cheek to his lapel. “I’m so sorry,” she said, starting to cry. “So terribly sorry. I miss him, too.”

“There, there,” Faraday murmured, patting her on the back. “Aren’t you a dear soul? And very much your brother’s sister, so much is clear.”

The two huddled together, drawing consolation from their shared grief. Julian felt a stab of ridiculous jealousy, but he forced it away. Far be it from him to deny Lily comfort from any source.

He would have his turn to hold her later. All night long. And for the lifetime after that.

Bloody hell. Belief hovered nearby, and his mind stretched to grasp it. Was it truly over?

“Go on,” Julian told Morland and Ashworth. “Go see to Lady Claudia and your wives. We’ll meet again soon.” As his friends started to leave, he impulsively added, “Oh, and thank …”

Both men halted mid-stride, turned, and stared at Julian as if he’d grown a third eye in the center of his brow.

“… you,” Julian finished self-consciously. This had been so much easier to say when they were faced in the opposite direction. But there they were, patiently listening, and it did need saying. “I, uh, just wanted to say”—he cleared his throat and made the next words almost part of the cough—“thank you. You know. For … not leaving. Earlier.”

The duke’s discomfort was plain. “Don’t go getting emotional, Bellamy. We aren’t going to hug.”