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

You’re not joking?”
    Chase gazed over at his sole companion and steadfast friend, Ralston Robertson, and replied, “No, I’m not joking.”
    “Are they pretty?”
    “I only saw one of them.”
    “And…?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Chase—as you constantly remind me—you are the consummate expert on all things female. How could you not know if she was pretty?”
    “She’s a nun.”
    “A nun?”
    “Yes. She has blue eyes, but that’s about all I can remember.”
    “She wasn’t an old crone, was she? Please tell me she wasn’t.”
    “No. She’s probably twenty-five or so. Short. Slender. Shapely. At least I think she was slender and shapely. With all that black fabric covering her, I can’t be sure.”
    They were on the verandah at the bathing pool outside Chase’s suite. The pool was tiled and faced the sea. He was shockingly naked and relaxing in the cool water.
    He and Ralston had been riding on the beach, and they always washed afterward. Normally Ralston would have jumped in too, but he’d just learned of the arrival of their unexpected guests. He was pacing, his excitement blatant and annoying, and Chase didn’t share it.
    The bathing pool was his favorite means of passing the sweltering afternoons. When the temperature reached its peak, he’d strip off his clothes—all of them—and tarry on the rock bench to gaze out at the horizon.
    His total nudity was brazen conduct that no polite Englishman would ever consider, but he’d changed so much from the stuffy, conventional fellow who’d left London two years prior that he didn’t like to reflect on how wild and decadent he’d grown.
    He’d turned into someone else from whom he’d previously been, and whether he was any better than the old Chase Hubbard was a debatable question. He suspected, down at his core, that he was still a wretch. The basics hadn’t been altered.
    Occasionally ships sailed by, but never close enough that he could discern a flag or decide if it might be a captain heading to England. While he sporadically experienced twinges of homesickness, the urge was never sufficient to drive him to rectify his situation. He was content to remain right where he was.
    “Where are they?” Ralston asked.
    “They?” In the months they’d occupied the villa, they’d never had any visitors, so it took him a moment to comprehend to whom Ralston referred. “Oh, they . The nuns. There are some children with them too. Young girls.”
    “Girls and nuns?”
    “Yes.”
    Ralston was kind and cheerful and decent in all the ways Chase wasn’t. He chuckled merrily.
    Chase frowned. “What’s so funny?”
    “We finally cross paths with some females, and it’s nuns and children. Isn’t that just how our luck is running?”
    Chase snorted. “Yes, I suppose it is typical.”
    “Where are they?” Ralston asked again.
    Chase waved toward the house. “I assume the servants are looking after them.”
    “The servants! Where are your manners? Have you been wallowing in the desert so long that you’ve forgotten how to act?”
    “No, I’m simply hot and sweaty and I wanted a bath. Sister Faithful—”
    “Sister Faithful?”
    “Yes, it’s quite a name, isn’t it? She claims it’s her true name too. She’s a handful, and I really didn’t care to deal with her.”
    “Why is she a handful?”
    “She’s brazen and bold, and I can’t abide those traits in a woman. The last hussy I encountered, when I was in Cairo—her name was Pippa Clementi—was so brash that I’m still suffering the consequences of knowing her. I don’t intend to ally myself with a confident female ever again.”
    “She’s a nun, and you describe her as brazen and bold?”
    “Yes, I hadn’t talked to her above a minute, and she demanded I leave Africa and escort her to England.”
    “What did you tell her?”
    “That I wouldn’t climb onto a ship and sail the ocean again for all the tea in London. Or China either for that matter.”
    “So you left