A Rogue for Christmas
Book 3 in the Christmas Scandals series.
If he was a better man, he’d stay far away from Iris Rowland. But no one had ever accused the Earl of Wentworth of being a good man.
After saving Iris from certain ruin the unthinkable happens. He becomes obsessed with the memory of the young woman he rescued at the end of the season.
There is only one thing to do. Secure an invitation to the Christmas house party she’ll be attending. But instead of putting his curiosity about Iris to rest, he is shocked to discover that his inconvenient attraction might be something more.
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Excerpt:
CHAPTER 1
December 1818
If he were a better man, he’d stay far away from Miss Iris Rowland. But no one had ever accused the Earl of Wentworth of being a good man. Which was why he’d gone out of his way to secure an invitation to Viscount Thornton’s annual Christmas house party.
It was a calculated risk since he couldn’t be certain Iris would be in attendance. But his discreet inquiries had shown this was his best course of action. His only path forward, really, if he didn’t want to wait until the next season began before he could see her again.
It had been years since Wentworth had ventured into the country for Christmas. Normally he spent the day in London, where he wouldn’t have to listen to his mother’s constant lectures about his unbecoming conduct. Staying in town also made it easier to conduct his affairs.
Not that he’d engaged in any liaisons of late, which was precisely the reason he was in Surrey. Iris Rowland was constantly in his thoughts—he’d even dreamed about her. Drastic action was needed to exorcise whatever spell she’d cast over him.
He’d only spoken to her once, and their encounter had been brief, but every second of their meeting out in the gardens during the last ball of the season was etched in his memory.
He’d grown bored early in the evening and made arrangements to meet an overeager new widow for a bit of fun. He’d been finding it increasingly difficult to enjoy his customary amusements of late and feared he was growing jaded. Hoping it was only a phase, he slipped out into the dimly lit gardens.
The moon wasn’t positioned correctly to supply enough light that evening, and the large shrubs and flowering bushes cast dark shadows along the path. But light wasn’t a requirement for what would happen tonight. One body was very much like another in the dark.
He blamed the shadows for his error in mistaking the woman standing in the garden for the buxom widow.
She was already waiting for him, facing away. He let out a sigh as he moved into place behind her. She was too old to make the mistake of turning her back on the path, where anyone could come across her.
He placed his arms on her hips and dragged her back into him. His mouth was already dropping to the exposed expanse of skin at the base of her neck when the unexpected happened. She raised her arm, but instead of reaching back to bury her fingers in his hair, she brought her elbow back sharply against his midsection.
It wasn’t enough to hurt him, of course, but he released her at once. He enjoyed his dalliances, but he would never force a woman. Seduce her, yes, but he’d never use force. He was also annoyed that she was playing games with him. If this woman thought that he was going to chase her to get what he wanted, she would be sorely disappointed.
He was preparing to tell her just that as she spun around to face him, but the admonition died on his lips.
Dammit, this wasn’t the eager widow from the ballroom. No, the indignant young woman was the last person he’d expected to find here.
Iris Rowland. Sister-in-law to the Earl of Seaford and, from all indications, an innocent.
He watched the play of emotions cross her lovely face. Indignation, then shock. Her blue eyes widened, and her hands flew to her lips. Her cheeks were red, but he watched the color fade within moments.
“Oh! You’re not—”
She seemed to think better of revealing who she’d planned to meet and snapped her lips closed.
“I take it you were expecting someone else?”
He thought she’d shake her head in denial. Perhaps babble some excuse and then flee. Instead, she folded her arms at her waist and frowned at him. The position framed her bodice, and he was powerless to stop his gaze from lowering to her breasts. Her bounty was more modest than the widow, but he found himself wondering how it would feel to drag this woman into his arms and make love to her.
“Are you quite done?”
He laughed. “You can cease playing the scandalized maiden, Miss Rowland. We both know why you are out here in the gardens late at night.”
Her mouth dropped open, and then she glared at him. Actually glared. It was an amusing change of pace. Normally, women went out of their way to make themselves attractive—and available—to him. And young women newly out in society, well, they avoided him altogether.
But it seemed that Miss Rowland was made of sterner stuff. To his absolute shock, he was intrigued.
“You might be out here for other… nefarious reasons. But I just wanted to enjoy the gardens.”
He crossed his arms, mimicking her stance, and held her gaze for several seconds. She looked away first.
She’d been angry that he’d dragged her against him, so perhaps she was telling the truth and thought that a man would meet her here late at night, alone, and not want to touch her.
“Who did you think I was when you spun around?”
Her lips firmed into a tight line, and he wanted to shake her. Surely her family didn’t know she was sneaking out into the gardens to take in the flowers with some bloke who would think nothing of ruining her.
“You need to stay away from the gardens at night. They’re frequented by rogues and ne’er-do-wells.”
She lifted her chin, which somehow, despite the fact that he was at least a foot taller than her, had the effect of making it appear as though she were looking down at him. “Perhaps that was what I was seeking? Someone who wasn’t tame.”
He was fairly certain her demeanor was a show of bravado. Clearly Miss Rowland needed someone to shake her out of her complacency. To show her that the world wasn’t a safe place for gently bred young women.
He moved closer, aware of the way she drew him to her like a magnet. Normally he’d be putting as much space as possible between himself and someone who was fresh on the marriage mart.
“Are you looking for danger, Miss Rowland?”
©2023 Suzanna Medeiros