Three Nights with a Scoundrel (Stud Club #3)

“Sorry I couldn’t bring her along,” Ashworth said. “But someone has to mind the inn. Besides, it felt cruel to pull the girl away from her honeymoon.”


“The comely Miss Dunn’s married, too?” Faraday gripped his walking stick. “What a shame. It’s a veritable plague of matrimony. Stay far clear of me, all three of you.”

With that, he hobbled to the side and lowered his weight onto a bench. Julian sensed the man’s loud decrial of marriage was merely an excuse to take a much-needed rest. After the exertion of standing upright all of five minutes, the poor soul needed a rest. Julian almost felt bad for him.

Or he would have, if he felt certain he could trust the man.

“Morland,” he said low, “I need you to keep a watchful eye on Faraday.”

“You want me to take the man under my protection?”

“I want you to take the man under your roof.”

“Now hold just a minute—” the duke began to object.

“You just said you have plenty of rooms. Your wife loves hosting guests.” When Morland’s face didn’t soften, Julian lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “Not to mention, you’re already hiding one invalid.”

Morland’s eyes flared. “How did you learn that? Did Amelia tell—”

“No, no. Your wife is the soul of discretion. It’s your ward who can’t keep herself concealed.” He clapped a hand on Morland’s shoulder. “Listen. Do me—do Leo—this last favor, and you can have the horse. I’ll relinquish all interest in him. You and Ashworth can work it out from there.”

Morland stepped back. “Really. You’d surrender your share in Osiris?” Julian nodded.

“In exchange for me housing Faraday for the next week?”

“Yes. Just until this is all settled. But you’ll be guarding him, not just giving him a bed.” He cut a glance over his shoulder to make sure the man himself wasn’t listening. “I can’t shake the feeling there’s still something he’s not telling us. Maybe he’s afraid, and that’s why he’s resistant. We can’t risk him running off again, to Cornwall or God-knows-where. Ashworth can’t host him, and I certainly can’t bring him home to Lily. She knows nothing about this.”

“How long do you think that will last?” Ashworth asked. “I mean, here we are making plans for our wives to get acquainted. Do you honestly think they won’t talk amongst themselves?”

“So don’t tell your wives, either.”

Morland gave a bark of laughter. “If Faraday’s staying in my house, Amelia’s going to know.”

“And my own wife just traveled all the way from Devonshire with the man,” Ashworth put in. “She knows all about the attack and Faraday’s role in it.”

“Besides,” the duke said, “I don’t lie to Amelia. We tell each other everything.”

“As husbands and wives should,” Ashworth concurred. “Merry and I, we’re the same.”

Julian cursed under his breath. This was becoming far too complicated.

“Here, then. You each tell your wives the truth.” To Morland, he said, “You tell Amelia that Faraday is a former Stud Club member, stricken by illness and fallen on hard times. You’re hosting him as a favor, but she’s to keep it very discreet because Mr. Faraday wouldn’t want his difficulties widely known. There, all of that’s true. Isn’t it?”

The duke shrugged. “I suppose.”

Julian turned to Ashworth. “And you ask Meredith to keep what she knows to herself, for Lily’s sake. We don’t want to raise Lily’s hopes or anxieties. For all we know, this will come to nothing.”

“Fair enough,” Ashworth said. “So what are you planning to tell Lily?”

“Nothing,” Julian answered. A marriage without secrets sounded lovely for others, but it wasn’t in the cards for a man like him. “Nothing just yet.”

“Oh, how lovely!”

At Lily’s exclamation, Amelia and Meredith perked up. The two ladies wandered over from across the gallery, eager to investigate the object that had inspired such delight.

“It’s just a desk.” Lily opened the top of the vast mahogany piece. The hardwood panel swung easily on its hinges, flattening to a sturdy writing surface. Inside, she found neat drawers for paper, ink, and quills, two locked compartments, and an entire regiment of pigeonholes for the sorting and filing of bills and receipts. The sight filled her with an absurd sort of joy.

The gallery owner, a meticulous man in a pale pink waistcoat, appeared beside them. “An antique,” he said. “Belonged to …”

Lily missed the name completely. No matter. Whichever magistrate or dignitary had owned the thing in the first place, it didn’t belong to him anymore.

“Are you thinking of this for Mr. Bellamy?” Meredith asked, running her fingers over the smooth veneer.