Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

“No,” Meredith said, raising one hand to shade her brow. “I don’t think so. I only see one. But I’m glad to know those two are still fast friends.”


“So am I,” Amelia replied. Claudia had grown into full womanhood now, tall, curvaceous and—as ever—bold. Mr. Faraday seemed to have a gentling influence on her. “They exchange a great many letters. And Mr. Faraday takes his role as Philip’s godfather very seriously. He’s already planned out the boy’s schooling, from tutors to Eton to Oxford to a tour of cathedrals on the Continent. Both Philip and Hugh are terrifically fond of him.”

A thin wail rose up from beneath the canopy. With reluctance, Amelia put away her shears. Nap was over.

In Meredith’s lap, baby Charlotte squirmed, squalling and red-faced.

“I’m so sorry,” Meredith said, rising to her feet.

“Don’t be,” Amelia reached to gather her crying child. “It’s high time she awoke. Come to Mama, darling.”

She thought she glimpsed a flicker of emotion in Meredith’s eyes as her friend relinquished the fussing babe. After eight years of marriage, she and Rhys still remained childless. “It will be your turn soon,” she said softly, patting Charlotte on the back. “I’m certain of it.”

“I’m reasonably certain of it, too.” Meredith smiled. “It will be my turn in November, if the midwife can be believed.”

Amelia’s startled cry of delight set off another round of baby Charlotte’s wails. And the little one was most displeased to be squashed in the middle of a hug.

“I’m so happy for you. Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

The corner of Meredith’s mouth tugged. “So many times, we’ve thought … we’ve hoped … only for naught in the end. Don’t tell Rhys I’ve told you. He’s so oddly superstitious.”

“But you’re certain now?”

“I think so.” Meredith’s eyes misted, and she pressed a hand to her belly. “Does it feel like a little frog? Kicking around inside?”

“Yes. That’s precisely how it feels.” Amelia hugged her again. “I’m so happy for you. You and Rhys will be wonderful parents.”

“You’re expecting? That’s brilliant.” The deep voice startled them both.

“Why, Julian,” Meredith said, releasing Amelia and stepping back. “So it was you I saw coming over the ridge.”

“I suppose it must have been.” After tipping his hat, he reached for Amelia’s hand, bowed over it, and kissed it lightly. “Your Grace.” He then went through each of the others in turn, kissing hands. “Lady Ashworth. Little Lady Charlotte.” Then, crouching beside a clump of daisies with all seriousness, “Lady Claire.”

“We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow,” Amelia said.

“I was able to conclude my business a bit early. I met with your husbands over by the stables.”

She laughed. “I could have guessed that you would.”

He turned to Meredith. “Ashworth didn’t let on a thing about your good news, however.”

“It’s meant to be a secret yet,” Meredith said. “Don’t tell him you know.”

Julian’s mouth tipped as he considered. “I’ll keep your secret if you give me an answer.”

“Oh?” Meredith’s brows arched. “To what question?”

He spread his arms wide. “Where, on this grand, magnificent, sprawling estate is my wife?”

Lily took a cautious step to her right. Her bare toes squelched in spongy mud, and the knotted hem of her skirt swirled atop the rushing stream.

Bending at the waist, she grasped a handful of watercress and pulled by the stems. She shook the leaves free of excess water before adding them to the basket threaded over her wrist. Just a few more bunches, and she would call it enough.

A brilliant blue dragonfly zipped past, darting from one patch of sunlight to another as it hovered above the creek. Lily watched, delighted with the creature’s iridescent beauty and graceful speed. The dragonfly made a sudden streak to the left. She turned her head to follow its path—

And spied her husband standing on the riverbank, one shoulder propped against a beech tree. She was stunned. She hadn’t expected him until tomorrow.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asked.

“Not long.”

She turned to face him. Lord, he was dangerously handsome. Unshaven, rumpled, bronzed from a day of travel in the sun. He’d stripped off his coat and wore it slung over his shoulder on the crook of one strong, talented finger. His cravat, if he’d been wearing one, was gone.

The stream’s brisk current lapped at the backs of her knees. Her mouth watered.

He tossed his coat over a branch and advanced toward her. “You,” he signed, “are very hard to find.”

She swallowed hard. Then lamely lifted her basket. “I’m gathering watercress.”

“So I see.” He came closer, plunging right into the stream, boots and all. As he neared, he drew a deep breath. “You smell of it, too. Green and peppery and fresh.”