Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) Read Online Free

him. When Rowena and the girls rose too, he scowled, indicating they should remain on the bench.
    “Faith,” Rowena hissed, “you can’t go in there alone.”
    “Nothing will happen to me,” Faith insisted.
    Rowena leaned nearer and whispered, “What if you never come out?”
    “I’ll come out. I swear.”
    “How long should we wait for you?”
    “As long as it takes for me to discover if we’ve found a knight in shining armor.”
    “There aren’t any of those left.”
    “We’ll see.”
    “Be careful!”
    “I’ll be fine, Rowena.” Faith nodded to the girls and said again, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
    Hot and miserable and forlorn, they were such a bedraggled little group. She whipped away, unable to bear their searching gazes. They were positive she knew what she was doing, that she would fix what was wrong, but she hadn’t a clue as to how.
    Ever since they’d sailed out of the harbor in Italy, ever since disaster had struck on their ship, she’d been bouncing from one idiotic decision to the next, and no matter what choice she made they were never a single mile closer to Scotland.
    Her escort walked into the house and she hurried after him, not having time to assess the surroundings or décor. If she had to suddenly turn around and escape, she had no idea how to get back to the front entrance.
    Still though, she tagged after him. What other option was there?
    Eventually they stepped out onto a marble verandah. The Mediterranean provided a scenic backdrop. It was the most spectacular spot she’d ever viewed in her life.
    At the far end, under a raised, shaded arbor, a man was sitting in an ornate chair that was fancy as a king’s throne.
    Two lithe, dark-eyed nymphs stood on either side of him, fanning him with palm fronds. The spritely pair was scarcely dressed, shockingly attired in trousers and vests and showing too much skin. She could see their flat bellies, their naked arms, and an exorbitant amount of cleavage. Their wrists and ankles were covered with gold bangles that jangled when they moved their hands.
    As to the man, she thought he might be one of the equestrians from down on the beach, but she wasn’t certain. If it was the same fellow, he’d changed his clothes.
    He was wearing an odd, flowing sort of trouser that was sewn from a colorful, shiny fabric. His feet were bare, his chest bare. He had a European ancestry, but he was so bronzed from the sun that it was difficult to predict whether he also had native blood in his veins.
    His eyes were very, very blue, his hair black, long, and hanging over his shoulders. He looked bored and decadent and too handsome for his own good, and he was staring at her as if she was an alien creature he’d never witnessed before.
    Her escort vanished into the shadows, and she couldn’t figure out if she should approach or tarry until summoned, so she hovered, feeling nervous and unsure as she hated to ever be.
    He studied her, starting with her face, then taking a slow meander down her torso and back up again. She wondered what he saw, but guessed there was no detail that would tantalize such a masculine cad. In light of the willowy girls fanning him, it was obvious what kind of female he enjoyed.
    In her dreary nun’s habit, her shapely figure was concealed by the heavy material so she had no traits that would entice him, and she thought he was precisely the type of libertine who would like to be enticed.
    With her auburn hair and merry blue eyes, she’d always been pretty, and though she’d been a novitiate with the Sisters of Mercy for eight years, she retained a feminine spark that was abruptly ignited. She wished he’d notice her comely features. But in her dusty, sweaty garments, her wimple firmly in place, it was impossible to appear fetching, and the fact that she yearned to present a more flattering picture was irksome in the extreme.
    She’d joined the convent at age seventeen, deeming it the perfect way to escape pressures at