To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4) Read Free Page A

cards at White’s, ogling horseflesh at Tattersall’s, or dancing set after set at tonnish event after tonnish event.
    An envious sigh bubbled up her throat.
    “Forgive me, but of course I remember you, Miss Needham. How could I not?”
    Katrina’s disbelieving, artfully plucked eyebrows wrestled each other in their scramble to touch her hairline first, and her “Indeed?” rang dryer than month-old bread left in summer sun.
    A slow smile hitched St. Monté’s mouth. “Though you were still in the schoolroom, I believe, and blushed pink as strawberry preserves each time I glanced anywhere near your direction.”
    He would recall that .
    Awkward, gangly, with a horrid propensity for spots on her chin and forehead, but desirous to experience society fuss too, Katrina had been thrilled to accompany Mama to visit Miss Sweeting that day. Captain St. Monté’s presence had been an unexpected bonus, and she’d become immediately infatuated, as green girls are wont to do. For a solid year, he’d been the hero of many a romantic daydream.
    Very well, considerably longer than a year, but Katrina hadn’t given The Saint more than a passing thought since meeting Richard, notwithstanding her bi-weekly visits to Miss Sweeting. But those musings weren’t voluntary. No, indeed. Miss Sweeting, without a jot of compunction, thrust them upon Katrina, regaling her with The Saint’s latest exploits and commendations.
    How, as a young woman bored stiffer than a fireplace poker with Society and yearning for her own adventures, was she to resist succumbing to fanciful imaginings?
    Eyeing him, Katrina affected an affronted air and notched her chin upward an inch. “I’ll have you know, my good sir, I thought myself quite grown up at fifteen, as do all girls that age.”
    “Ah, fifteen.” Two words that insinuated more. Much more.
    She could almost hear his mind clacking away, calculating her age and pondering why, at twenty, she remained unwed. The answer was quite simple really, and rather insipid too. Until she’d met Richard, no other man had toppled The Saint from the venerated pedestal she’d perched him upon. He was to blame for her unmarried state.
    Nonsensical twaddle, mooning over and fancying herself in love with the boy-man she’d met but one time. Perhaps the innocent girl she’d once been had truly loved the wild, daring St. Monté, but the woman she’d become idolized her calm, steadfast Richard.
    Dalton entered, her shoulders and neck every bit as starched as the pristine apron covering her plain, black gown. Her genial tone and the affection glimmering in her eyes belied her stiff demeanor. “Yes, ma’am?”
    “Please take this basket to the kitchen and prepare a tea tray. Nic will be joining us after all.” From her delighted expression, Miss Sweeting couldn’t have been more pleased if Prinny had taken tea with her. She pointed to the basket then drew her shawl snugger. “Oh, and do add another log to the fire, please. I’m quite chilled today. My stiff bones and the pouting clouds tell me a storm’s coming.”
    Gads no, not another bloody log. Sticky with sweat, Kristina would require a bath when she returned home as it was. Her alarm must have shown, for Captain St. Monté collected a surprisingly charming cream blanket from the couch’s humped back.
    “Let’s wrap another throw around you, Aunt Bertie.” He slipped the soft, knitted afghan about her thin shoulders. “I fear your guest is about to melt into a puddle, though I confess, I’m accustomed to much warmer climes, and the heat doesn’t bother me overly much.”
    Of course it didn’t. The devil quite enjoyed gallivanting about in hell’s bowels. Probably paraded about his schooner’s decks half-naked too.
    That I should like to see ...
    “Thank you, Nic.” Miss Sweeting scrunched her nose a mite, still raking her fingers through Percival’s fur. “You do appear quite flushed, Miss Needham. Perhaps you should remove your