The Last Wicked Scoundrel Read Free

on the underside of her chin that she might not even know was there. He found no fault with them, as they were signs of survival, but he loathed the reasons that she possessed them.
    Still, he often thought of how it would feel to trail his mouth over them, and wondered if in the process he would heal the inner hurts with as much success as he’d managed to heal the outer ones.
    He longed to remove the pins from her mahogany hair. He doubted she was aware that during some of her moments of delirium he had brushed it to keep it from becoming so infested with tangles that it would need to be shorn. It fell to her waist, and was so beautiful. As beautiful as she was. He could gaze into her brown eyes for hours, but he’d done all the gazing he allowed himself for the night. One dance. A few moments. He dared not torture himself further by taking more. His ability to resist her was on a weak tether.
    He downed the contents of the tumbler before setting it aside on the railing. Time to be off, to find another woman to distract him from his desires. Although unfortunately, since he’d met her, all other women paled in comparison, left him wanting. He often worked himself to exhaustion simply so he wouldn’t carry her into dreams, because she never wore a stitch of clothing there, and his frustration with past actions merely increased. But even knowing the price he paid, he would do it again without hesitation. He would do anything at all to protect her.
    Turning on his heel, he paused as he saw the duchess descending the steps that led into the garden. He shouldn’t follow her. She might have arranged a tryst, but he seemed incapable of stopping his legs from making short work of closing the distance separating them. “Duchess?”
    Stopping, she faced him. Within the pale light cast by the gas lamps that lined the path, he saw her slight smile. Gentle, warm, welcoming. She was the kindest person he’d ever known. In his youth he had longed for one kind touch, one sweet caress that would ease all the hurts. He imagined she would be a balm to his harsh soul.
    “I do wish you would call me Winnie,” she said softly.
    “You’re a duchess; I’m a commoner.”
    “A commoner who serves as one of the queen’s many physicians. I would say that makes you uncommon, Dr. Graves.”
    Ignoring her argument—he needed nothing to create a sense of intimacy between them that might weaken his resolve to remain aloof—he said, “Should you be out here alone?”
    “It’s my garden. As a widow, I have no need of a chaperone.” She looked back over her shoulder. “It’s such a crush in there, which is a great benefit to the cause, but I was beginning to feel as though I were suffocating. I just needed a bit of fresh air, so I thought to take a quick turn about the garden. Would you care to join me?”
    He knew the correct answer, the safe answer. Instead he heard himself uttering neither. “I would, very much.”
    Then he did something equally stupid: he offered her his arm. She placed her small hand on the crook of his elbow, and while he wore a shirt and jacket, he could still feel the indentation of each finger through the cloth until he would swear that she was burning a brand onto his skin. Her head was a good six inches below his shoulder. She was such a tiny thing, which made him even angrier when he thought of her brute of a husband taking his fists to her, before holding her down and forcing himself on her. He’d gotten what he deserved, and William had no regrets about it. If it added the weight of guilt to his own conscience so be it. It wasn’t the first time.
    A cool breeze wafted through the lovely summer evening, holding the fog at bay. A few other couples were walking about. The whisperings of some who had strayed from the path mingled with the chirping of insects. The darkness created an intimacy that made it easy to believe that secrets could be kept there.
    “Why does Victoria require so many physicians?” the