Scoundrel (Lost Lords of Radcliffe Book 4) by Cheryl Holt Page A

along with no drama and no surprises.
    Mr. Hubbard gestured to Akmed, and he fetched Mr. Robertson’s sword and wiped it off.
    “Let’s try it again,” Mr. Hubbard told his friend. “ En garde!”
    Mr. Robertson sighed. “Must we keep on? I’m hot and thirsty.”
    “Again, Ralston!” Mr. Hubbard snapped, and Mr. Robertson set his feet.
    They began, steel ringing with each blow, their tanned bodies twirling and bending as they parried. The bout went on for quite some time, but gradually Mr. Robertson started to retreat. Eventually he lost his footing and fell on his bottom.
    “I give! I give!” He held up his palms in surrender. “I admit it. You’re better than me.”
    “Of course I am, but you’re not so bad yourself.”
    “High praise, my dear sword master.”
    “Don’t get used to it.”
    Mr. Hubbard extended his hand, and Mr. Robertson was yanked to his feet. That’s when Faith heard giggling and applause.
    She glanced over the balcony rail to see Rowena and the girls sitting in the shade and watching the lesson, as were numerous servants.
    To Faith’s dismay, Rowena had shed her wimple and her hair was pulled back with a ribbon. More shockingly, she wasn’t attired in her habit. She’d found some clothes somewhere, and they weren’t the sort of garments any Englishwoman would ever consider wearing. They must have once belonged to a native woman.
    The fabric was light and thin, colorful, and wrapped around her as if it was a towel. It outlined her curves so there was no question of her shapely anatomy. Her arms were bare, her feet were bare.
    The girls had changed too. Their stiff skirts, petticoats, buckled shoes, and stockings had been removed, and they were dressed in outfits similar to the female servants, a type of casual trouser that billowed at the calves and tightened at the ankles. Their upper torsos were covered with vests, and they were barefoot too.
    Mr. Hubbard took that moment to spin around, and he noticed her lurking up above. He flashed a seductive grin, winked, then sauntered off with Mr. Robertson. She slinked into the quiet hallway and leaned against the wall, reviewing her situation, what was happening with Rowena and the children.
    When Mr. Hubbard had peered up at her, her pulse had raced as if she was an adolescent ninny in the throes of her first crush. Every facet of her response was dangerous and wrong, and she had to put a stop to it. Unfortunately she was delighted by his attention and apparently so starved for it that she was rapidly forgetting her position in the world.
    The previous evening, he’d suggested she toss away her wimple. At the time, she’d claimed she never would, but evidently she’d taken his words to heart. As she’d risen that morning, it had been very hot. Her wimple was hanging from the bedpost in her room.
    She kept telling herself she’d done it simply to be more comfortable, but the pitiable fact was that she’d done it for Mr. Hubbard, because he’d urged her to, because she’d wanted him to note that she had.
    After a mere two days in the residence, she was already suffering strange alterations to her character. It almost seemed as if magic was afoot. Would she yield to it?
    She hurried down the stairs, anxious to find Rowena, to speak with her, but nervous about how to phrase her comments. Any remark would sound scolding and wouldn’t be welcome, yet Faith felt she should counsel caution.
    And what about the girls prancing about like natives? Should it be allowed? They were very young. Did it matter how they dressed while staying at the villa?
    Faith couldn’t decide. Nor could she describe her relationship to them. With their parents being deceased, Mother Superior had been bringing them to the convent to live and attend school. Their only other kin were a pair of bachelor uncles in India, and even if a letter could be gotten to them about their nieces’ plight, it might be two or three years before Faith received a reply.
    She