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

home. She would become a nun once she was ready for the final vows so she hardly needed to flaunt herself to a strange man.
    “Well…?” he ultimately said, his British accent very clear.
    “Oh, you speak English. Good.”
    She marched over, stopping directly in front of him. His throne was on a dais so he was up above her, but even without the added elevation, he seemed very large and much grander than she’d expected him to be.
    With him seated, she couldn’t exactly discern his height, but she suspected he’d be tall, six feet at least. He was a bit older than she was, probably thirty or so, and with her standing so close, she had to admit that he was an excellent male specimen, broad-shouldered, tanned, hale and fit.
    She was flustered by him though, by his bare flesh and piercing gaze, by his superior size and semblance of authority. He made her feel small and poor and insignificant, and she’d like to request he put on a shirt, but she wasn’t certain how to broach the subject.
    “You are…?” he inquired in a derisive fashion.
    “Sister Faithful.”
    “Sister… faithful? Are you commenting on your piety or is that your name?”
    She’d had a lifetime of jokes about her name, so her smile never wavered. “Faithful is my given name, sir. To whom have I the pleasure of speaking?”
    “The pleasure?” He chuckled. “I don’t believe anyone has ever viewed it as being pleasurable to speak with me. We’ll converse for a few minutes, then you can decide what you think.”
    She noted that he hadn’t supplied his own name. Was he on the run from the law? Was he a criminal? He lived by the sea. Was he a smuggler or pirate?
    “What is this place?” she asked.
    “The locals call it the Ghost House.”
    “Why?”
    “Because there are ghosts in it, Sister Faithful. Why would you suppose? I’d tell you the Arabic name, but you couldn’t pronounce or remember it.” He leaned back and studied her again. “What can I do for you? What has brought you staggering to my door?”
    She was offended by his boorish tone. “I didn’t stagger.”
    “Fine. You didn’t stagger. How did you arrive?”
    “I walked part of the way and rode the rest in a farmer’s cart.”
    “You came from town?”
    “Yes.”
    “Deliberately to find me?”
    “Yes.”
    “To what end?”
    “I need your help.”
    She hadn’t meant to simply blurt it out like that. He was being particularly surly, as if he’d never learned any manners, but there was no reason for him to be so impolite. He was the first British person whom she’d stumbled on in weeks. He couldn’t disappoint her. She wouldn’t let him.
    “You need my help?” He looked flummoxed. “As I’ve never previously laid eyes on you, what makes you imagine I’d be inclined to provide it?”
    “I don’t know where else we can turn.”
    “We? Who is with you?”
    “My fellow sister, Rowena, and our three charges.”
    “Charges?”
    “Little girls.”
    “There are…what? Five of you?” He was horrified by the number.
    “Yes. They’re in the foyer waiting for me, and now that I see for myself you’re British, and clearly you’re a gentleman—”
    He snorted with amusement. “ I am a gentleman? Your powers of discernment may be a bit off.”
    “No, I’m positive you’re a gentleman, and we throw ourselves on your mercy.”
    He waved a decadent hand. “Don’t be throwing yourself anywhere. Just tell me what you want. If it’s in my power to bestow it—which I doubt very much—I shall give it to you.”
    He seemed imperious and bored, and she felt she should talk faster so she could say all she had to say before he was done listening. Like a lazy despot, he flicked his wrist, and a servant appeared out of nowhere and slipped him a goblet.
    She was so hot and so thirsty, she could smell the contents, could sense the goblet contained red wine. She’d never been much of a drinker, and wine was never available at the convent, but she’d developed a