A Most Indecent Gentleman Read online

  London, 1839

  Scandal-prone Cassandra Burroughs is determined to expose the outrageous secrets of Jocelyn Eisley, the man responsible for her family’s disgrace. Her method? Seduction! She just never factored in being so outrageously attracted to this devastatingly wicked rake herself.... After only a brief encounter with Jocelyn, Cassandra is left wondering: Who is really being seduced? And when pleasure is this good, is this a game they both can win?

  Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous

  Only London’s best lovers need apply!

  Rakes Who Make Husbands Jealous

  Only London’s best lovers need apply!

  The League of Discreet Gentlemen has only one

  priority—providing the women of London with

  unimaginable pleasure. The secrecy demanded is

  expensive, but satisfaction is definitely guaranteed!

  The League members pride themselves on knowing

  everything about desire. But they’re about to discover that while seduction is easy, falling in love can be very hard indeed...!

  Don’t miss this incredible quartet by dazzling

  Harlequin® Historical author

  Bronwyn Scott!

  SECRETS OF A GENTLEMAN ESCORT

  (Harlequin Historical)

  AN OFFICER BUT NO GENTLEMAN

  (Harlequin Historical Undone!)

  A MOST INDECENT GENTLEMAN

  (Harlequin Historical Undone!)

  LONDON’S MOST WANTED RAKE

  (Harlequin Historical)

  A Most Indecent

  Gentleman

  Bronwyn Scott

  Author’s Note

  Jocelyn and Cassandra are kindred spirits set at opposite ends of a conflict. Both of them are a little wild, a little headstrong—well, all right, not a little, but a lot. And they’re both used to getting what they want. Now, they’re faced with a situation where what they want is not going to be easily achieved. In fact, if it is achieved at all, it will be with great risk and at great expense. Jocelyn risks his longtime friendship with Channing Deveril, the League and his own reputation in order to trust Cassandra. Cassandra risks being abandoned by her family and left to her own penniless devices in order to trust Jocelyn.

  Both sides of the story are reminders of my two favorite motivational phrases: “I didn’t tell you it would be easy, I told you it would be worth it.” And “to get what you’ve never had, you’ll have to do what you’ve never done.”

  Enjoy discovering how Jocelyn and Cassandra get what they’ve never had!

  Dedication

  For Ro who is starting to see the fruits of his long years of labor in the pool pay off and who continues to do what he’s never done before. Keep it up, my boy,

  because the big time awaits and your chance will only come once. Be ready and seize it.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter One

  One visual sweep of the ballroom was enough to confirm Cassandra Burroughs’s initial suspicion, but she looked twice just to be sure. She only needed one, as long as he was the right one. In this case, the right one was Jocelyn Eisley, heir to an earldom. That was the reason every woman in the ballroom was looking for him. But not her. She was looking because he was the key to her uncle’s revenge. First, she had to find him.

  Cass ran through the checklist in her mind; broad-shouldered, blond, taller than most, full-bodied in a muscular robust way familiar to those who are acquainted with the well-built Englishman in his prime. She’d never met Eisley before, but surely she’d recognize a man in possession of such a stunning array of attributes on sight. He shouldn’t be hard to spot, especially against the rather dismal backdrop of men on display in Lady Martin-Burke’s ballroom. Unless, of course, such a man didn’t exist or her uncle had exaggerated his physical attributes.

  The latter would be most disappointing. The thought of a man meeting Eisley’s purported description was a rather exciting one. Men were usually predictable creatures; flatter them and they’d do anything for you. Even the newest of debutantes knew that much. Eisley might prove to be refreshingly different. Hopefully, not too different though. She had a job to do, after all. It would be a bonus if Eisley turned out to be the stuff of dreams in the interim.

  Not that it mattered. Cass immediately dismissed the thought as disloyal. Having an affinity for the so-far-elusive Eisley was definitely an inappropriate attachment of her emotions. Whether she liked it or not, she owed her loyalty at present to her uncle. It was her uncle who had called her up to town for the Little Season and who was paying for her expenses, wardrobe included. Otherwise, she’d still be languishing in the Dorset countryside, a casualty of her own headstrong nature and the quirk of fate that saw her father born the second son of a baron and not the first. She was twenty-one. She would soon be on the shelf and there just weren’t that many men to pick from in Dorset. Although all it seemed London had on Dorset at the moment was quantity, her uncle had given her a second chance.

  In return, she was to ferret out Eisley’s supposed secrets, of which her uncle was sure there were many. Her uncle had given her an agenda: to determine Eisley’s association with the scandalous and currently absent Nicholas D’Arcy and by extension, the truth behind the rumored existence of the League of Discreet Gentlemen, an organization reportedly dedicated to the fulfillment of a woman’s pleasure. Last spring, her uncle had been cuckolded in his own home by D’Arcy, and D’Arcy hadn’t been seen in London since, although news of his sudden marriage to a fabulously wealthy Sussex heiress had circulated through the ton at the end of the Season.

  That had been in August. Now it was November, the Little Season; one last chance for parliament and society to gather before Christmas holidays drove everyone to their country estates. Her uncle was certain with society in town, the league would be busy and visible, thus the need for her presence. She was to be Eisley’s enticement.

  If Eisley wasn’t in the ballroom, he might be in the card rooms, where he could potentially stay for a very long while. If so, she’d miss him entirely unless she went to him. Card rooms were not terribly ladylike venues, but she didn’t have a choice. It was either search him out or report back empty-handed to her uncle.

  The card rooms were not hard to find. Lady Martin-Burke had set them up in a pair of adjoining rooms down the hall from the ballroom. The corridor was dark, perhaps to discourage young misses from wandering down it to the dens of gentlemen’s iniquity, but one could hardly overlook them, dark hall or not. The rooms announced themselves in a spill of masculine laughter that filled the dim hallway. Cass hurried toward the sounds, careful to keep out of sight of the door. It wouldn’t do to be spotted.

  She knew very well she was only one scandal away from being sent home to Dorset in eternal shame. Her uncle had made it clear she was to be discreet in her dealings with Eisley. Her uncle would not tolerate any “funny business,” as he called it, the way her father had. In his opinion, it had been years of tolerance that had led to her current situation. It was politely hoped among her family that her liveliness would fit better in London where living was generally faster and there were more entertainments to provide outlets for all that vi
vacity. She’d been far too “lively” of a girl for the bucolic life of Dorset. Less politely put, her family hoped her latest scandal wouldn’t arrive in London before she’d had a chance to catch a husband who had yet to hear of the exploits of Cassandra Burroughs. London was her last bid for respectability and well she knew it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be respectable, she just didn’t want it bad enough.

  Cass leaned forward from her unobtrusive post to the left of the door, a rich baritone rising above the general noise of conversation. “I give you, ‘Nick the Prick, Part Deux.’”

  This announcement was met with hoots and whistles and a boisterous round of applause.

  Nick the Prick his wick did dip

  In sweetest nectar it did sip.

  Until one June, it met its doom,

  a Sussex rose in full bloom.

  A maid he laid and true love his

  soul did save. And that is the end of

  our lover brave.

  There was more applause, the men acting as if this was the finest poetry ever written. “I say, would this be a limerick or a cinquain?” someone shouted.

  In the darkness of the hall, Cass rolled her eyes. It was rubbish was what it was and they were treating it like bloody Shakespeare.

  “Give us another, Eisley.”

  That got her attention. The “poet,” and she used the term loosely, was Jocelyn Eisley? Cass crept nearer to the door, hoping for a look to confirm it.

  “No, no, too much of a good thing isn’t healthy for you, lads!” the baritone called out in good humor. “I’m off to do the pretty for my lady hostess then it’s to the clubs. Perhaps I shall see some of you there later this evening.”

  Cass could imagine him winking as she watched him grace his followers with a low bow. From her vantage point she couldn’t make out his face, his back was to her and the door, but she was treated to her first confirming glimpse of those shoulders, which were just as broad as described. When he straightened, she couldn’t help marveling at his height, at how those shoulders tapered to a lean waist shown to advantage in a superbly tailored dark evening coat, which unfortunately hid a better view of his buttocks. She could only suppose they were as well done as the rest of him. From the back, he was magnificent, all the darkness of his attire topped with a head of guinea-bright hair. Her uncle had been right, after all; broad shoulders, check; gold hair, check; a well-built physique, check. Make that a double check. Eyes the color of sharp jade... Eyes? Wait a minute!

  But she didn’t have a minute. He had been backing toward the door, but while she’d been cataloging his finer points, he’d reached the door and turned around. There was nowhere for her to go. Before she could move, her nose made intimate contact with his chest.

  “Ouch!”

  “What the deuce!” Eisley stumbled against her, his bulk propelling them to the wall. She could feel his hands on her arms, his grip a bit rough as he tried to steady them both. She hit the wall, imprisoned, not unpleasantly, between it and Eisley. “I beg your pardon,” Eisley managed to say once they stopped reeling from the impact. “Are you all right? I didn’t see you standing there. Can’t see anything in this blasted hallway. Don’t know what Lady Martin-Burke was thinking to keep it so dark.”

  “It’s a regular Vauxhall down here.” Cass ventured a little saucy tongue in cheek as if she’d ever been to Vauxhall. “Who knows what kind of trouble guests could get up to if they strayed from the well-lit path?” There was just a hint of suggestion in her tone and it wasn’t hard to imagine all sorts of decadent answers when she looked up into those sharp green eyes.

  “That being the case, miss, what are you doing down here?” Eisley smiled back, a wide, infectious grin that made the most of his mouth with its slightly fuller lower lip, a mouth made for kissing. It took a moment for her to realize he wasn’t scolding. He was flirting, just a little, something she supposed came naturally to him. From the looks of it, he probably couldn’t help it.

  “I was looking for something.” Cass allowed herself to smile back, her eyes holding his for a long moment, far longer than decency allowed. Instinct told her, he would not be impressed with a decent girl who shunned dark hallways and subtle overtures from the handsome men one met in them. And she did have to impress him, right here, right now. One had so little time to make a first impression, especially when there was a ballroom of others to compete with. She was not leaving this hallway without him.

  “Did you find it?” Eisley sounded amused. He didn’t quite believe her. “With the hallway being so dark, I would think finding anything quite impossible, particularly the sorts of things ladies are known to lose—tiny earbobs and the like.” He said “ladies” as if he’d already taken her measure and she’d come up lacking in that regard. Well, Cass supposed that was fair. She wasn’t a “lady” in the sense the girls in the ballroom were. She wasn’t the only woman hoping to dance with Jocelyn Eisley tonight. The ballroom had been abuzz with his name since she’d walked in. The difference was that she’d done something about it. She’d gone looking for him while the others merely waved their fans and kept hoping he’d come to them, as if wishing would conjure the man out of thin air.

  “Did I find it?” Cass boldly looped her arm through his and angled them toward the ballroom, setting off at a strolling pace. She cocked her head to the side and gave him a coy half smile. “I most certainly did.”

  Chapter Two

  “I don’t suppose that something you were looking for was me?” Jocelyn offered glibly. But the insouciance was entirely feigned. This wasn’t the first “accidental” meeting in a hallway he’d been party to. A single gentleman of his age and rank was a most hunted creature. “I wouldn’t put it past our hostess to send someone to drag me back to the ballroom.”

  She didn’t even bother trying to look penitent. Instead, she, whoever she was, flashed him a smile that dazzled even in the dark of the corridor. “Are you always this arrogant? How could I come looking for you if I didn’t know you? It would be impossible to tell if I’d found you. I could have dragged any impostor back with me if that was the case. In fact, I still don’t know you.” Well, this was certainly new. The hostesses usually didn’t send the fun ones. Jocelyn winked and leaned close to her ear. “Well, not, biblically, anyway, not yet.” There was a faint hint of summer roses about her, a slightly sophisticated scent like the woman herself, a woman who flirted as she did wasn’t entirely an innocent. He was starting to enjoy this, especially if Lady Martin-Burke hadn’t sent one of her husband-hunting minions for him. This chit didn’t seem like Lady Martin-Burke’s sort. She was far too bold.

  “You presume too much, sir.”

  Jocelyn grinned in the dark. She wasn’t truly mad. He could hear the laughter in her voice along with the required censure. A good flirt knew how to mix the two. She was proving to be adept at the art.

  Jocelyn gave an honest laugh. “And yet you’re the one who has commandeered my arm and my attentions.” Had a walk in the dark ever been this interesting? Most walks he took in the dark had certain predetermined outcomes. There were no surprises. There hadn’t been any surprises for a very long time. Yet there were surprises here aplenty.

  “Your attentions? Have I? That sounds very promising. Do you suppose there might be a dance for me in that?” She was asking him for a dance.

  They’d reached the ballroom where it would be natural to go their separate ways. His duty to see her back to the safety of the crowd and light had been fulfilled. He was required to do no more. She’d realized this, proving that his little interloper was an astute negotiator as well as a flirt. He had nothing against either. Both made for interesting conversation, both could keep a man on his toes and Jocelyn liked a good game. What had promised to be a tedious evening filled with the usual suspects was most definitely looking up. “What do I get in return?”

 
“Why, my company, of course, and the bonus that I am an exceptional dancer.” Jocelyn wondered how exceptional. Did she know what she implied? Lucifer’s balls, he’d become quite a cynic. His thoughts were perpetually jaded.

  Even so, she was infectious, Jocelyn decided as they took their places in line for the next set. Even in the dim corridor there’d been a potency to her, a charisma. Charm was too weak of reference to describe her pull, potency perhaps too masculine to describe the laughter that frothed just beneath the surface of her conversation. In the bright light of the ballroom, she was stunning. Rich red hair devoid of the usual orangey hue, lay artfully coiffed at the nape of her neck. The art was in the long braid of it, coiled so that a man had difficulty thinking of anything else but pulling out the pins one by one and watching it fall.

  Blue eyes met his, sharp, dancing eyes that supported his belief that laughter lurked in her every word, as she took her position across from him. The music started and they came together for the first pattern. She hadn’t lied. She was a superb dancer, her movements confident and graceful. There was something supple, fluid even, about the way she danced the simple quadrille, something uniquely erotic.

  He must be going crazy. The quadrille was not an erotic dance, it was quite sexless, in fact, unlike the waltz, when done right, any good rake knew was just publicly condoned sex on a dance floor. It was common knowledge among his set that anyone good at the waltz had a better than fair chance of being decent in bed. He had it on good authority that he was one of London’s finest waltzers.

  Yet, here he was, fighting the early signs of arousal, in the midst of le pantalon, his blood firing at the sight of her swaying gracefully from partner to partner until all he could think of was getting a waltz with her. Jocelyn supposed he could blame the dress. The ivory of her gown was nearly a seamless complement to the ivory of her skin. It was almost like seeing someone naked. Only the seed-pearl trim of the bodice separated the one from the other, the satin “sleeves” at her shoulders so negligible as to be nothing of substance.