The Secrets of a Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF

would not hear of that, either.
    At last, after furtively tailing her father to a London fencing studio where the lads were having a casual training session one afternoon, she had finally glimpsed the group of them, all in their early twenties, one more beautiful than the next.
    Fighting like demons against each other in practice, then laughing and roughhousing good-naturedly like brothers between rounds.
    Though their vibrant male beauty had left her breathless, their close-knit warmth had struck her like a stab in her girlish heart.
    For this, she had realized, was her father’s real family, and she was just as woefully excluded from it as she was from the family she lived with.
    The Earl of Ashton’s palatial home had been a very chilly place for the redhead who wasn’t quite His Lordship’s daughter.
    Gin lowered her head, tamping down the pain from the memory of that lesson; it still smarted. In any case, her most vivid memory of that day had been of Nick, the young Lord Forrester, leaning by himself against a column, sharpening his blade.
    She had picked him out when one of the others had called his name. He had looked over, and her stare had homed in on him: she knew that name.
    Now she could put a face to the one who drove her father to distraction. “Nefarious Nick,” as his brother warriors called him, was her father’s greatest headache.
    To be sure, the young, intriguing, black-haired knight was deadly. But Order teams were trained to work as a seamless unit, and Nick had always been a bit of a lone wolf.
    Apparently, the Order’s prison was where his stubborn, independent streak had got him.
    How she could relate to that.
    For, indeed, her own stubborn, independent streak had landed her in a prison of sorts herself for a number of years: marriage.
    But she wouldn’t be making that mistake ever again.
    Putting the past out of her mind, she closed her eyes and leaned back beside him as the carriage rumbled on.
    A fter three hours of travel, it was necessary to stop and change horses. They pulled into the cobbled yard of a busy, galleried coaching inn called The Owl.
    It had a pub on the ground floor, guest chambers above, and a livery stable in the back.
    Nick lifted his head from the squabs, eagerly watching out the window at the hustle and bustle of ordinary life going on. Travelers spilled out of newly arriving stagecoaches; others filed into departing coaches while the tin horns blew.
    Gin glanced at her prisoner when they both caught the scent of food coming from the pub. She heard his stomach grumble loudly in response and gave a sympathetic wince.
    She wished it was possible to release him so he might come in with them—it would probably do him good—but she did not dare. Not here, in a busy transportation hub.
    If he took it into his mind to escape, there were too many opportunities for him to grab a horse and go. She would never see him again. And then there would be hell to pay from the graybeards.
    “Would you like to get out and stretch?” she offered.
    He shook his head. Cynicism flickered in his dark eyes when he realized she had no intention of taking the shackles off him. But his pride outweighed practicality.
    “No, thanks. I’ll wait,” he said, stone-faced.
    “Suit yourself.” She gave her two grooms strict orders to guard him. With a nod, one brought his hand to his pistol, then they both went to stand on either side of the carriage doors.
    Gin strode into The Owl to make the arrangements for the horses and order food.
    Inside, she stayed near the window to make sure her valuable prisoner did not try to overcome his pair of guards and get away. Meanwhile, the coachman unhitched the horses from the last stage and traded them for fresh ones.
    Before long, the food was ready. She carried it outside, distributing the small hampers of provisions to her men before climbing back into the carriage.
    “Beef stew or chicken pie?” she asked her prisoner when she returned to her