To Desire a Scoundrel: A Christmas Seduction (Novella) (Southern Heat)

  To Desire a Scoundrel

  A Christmas Seduction

  by

  Tracy Sumner

  First published in paperback by Kensington Publishing

  Copyright 2000, 2011 by Tracy Sumner

  Published by Tracy Sumner 2011

  E-book Cover Copyright 2011 HOT DAMN Designs

  E-book Format by A Thirsty Mind

  Please Note

  All rights reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  Learn more about the author and her books at www.TracySumner.com or visit her on Facebook Facebook.com/TracySumnerRomanceAuthor and Twitter @SumnerTracy.

  Chapter One

  1852

  They burst from the still-settling stagecoach like two cats from a burlap sack.

  Kate stumbled through a cloud of dust and snapped her flounced skirt with a vicious flip of her wrist. “Dear God, what did I do to deserve this? I simply asked for a quiet Christmas.” She glared at the sky, looking like she expected an answer to be scrawled across the clouds.

  Powerless to stop himself, Tanner stepped forward, halting when she stepped back. “I told you I was sorry. Three times, in fact. The cheroot simply got away from me. The wind” —his hand shot out, circled— “Just ripped the damn thing from my fingers. My good arm is tangled up in this sling.” He lifted his injured limb and suppressed a wince of pain for his trouble.

  Kate seized the tuft of auburn curls trailing across her cheek and tried unsuccessfully to contain them behind her ear. “Mr. Barkley, you have never been anything but a thorn, worse than a thorn, a ragged piece of glass, yes, glass, cutting into my side. Lucky I only have a singed item of clothing to show for the debacle this time.” Dipping her chin, she fingered the black-edged hole in her shawl.

  Tanner frowned, wondering if he should offer her his coat. He glanced down: frayed seams, a peculiar odor. Then again, maybe not. “Jesus, I’ll buy you a new one.”

  Her gaze traveled from his head to his feet. He realized rumpled, ill-fitting clothing lay in between. “I wouldn’t go that far, Mr. Barkley. Paisley is quite...expensive. Above and beyond a newspaperman’s wage, I imagine. Although, you never looked this frightful. If this ensemble is all you’re able to afford” —she wagged her pinkie in his direction— “I must surmise you’ve taken a headlong leap into indigence. Not getting enough stories thrown your way?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice one step below a snarl. “You never did. You could have let me talk to you. Explain the situation. And I tried, dammit. Supplicated—”

  “Please, no need to use such grand words with me.” She raised an arched brow in her arrogant way, which only served to bump his fury two notches higher. “And about this threadbare topic.” Her amber eyes held his; eyes brimming so sharply with intelligence that they almost diminished the beauty of her face.

  He took a fast step forward and slapped his hands on either side of the coach, hemming her in. Though he’d planned to get the hell off the stagecoach and leave her standing in the swirl of dust generated from his rapid departure, he found it difficult to follow through with that gloating smirk twisting her features. God, he absolutely hated when she used the brow arch and the bored tone together. “Kat, you’re better off without Abel Asher.”

  She sputtered, her cheeks flaming.

  Ah, ha! Got you.

  “Better? Is it better to open the door one morning to find your fiancée, whom you have known since childhood, standing on your front step, shouting about ruining his business? Ruining his life? Shouting loud enough to draw a crowd?” She struck Tanner’s chest with a closed fist. “Is it better for your engagement ring to be ripped from your finger?” Pound. “Better for your name to be publicly muddied by your involvement with an overzealous newspaperman?” Pound. “And all for a newspaper article. An article about misappropriation of funds everyone in Richmond knew about.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him. “Everyone knowing didn’t make the situation right, Kat. Asher deserved what he got. I told you, you were not a part of my research. Were never a part of the story at all.”

  She tipped her head and laughed. “Never part of the story? I was Abel’s bookkeeper. What do you think he thought?”

  “Are you pining over him, Kat? Is that it? Did you love him so much?”

  “Love? I wrote him a letter the night before, you idiot, breaking the engagement. Abel and I were never in love. A convenient arrangement between families, nothing more. You understood the arrangement; we discussed it many times. Do you think I would have...would have...with you? If I was in love with him?” She gave a forceful shove and brushed past him. “But, in your notably gauche fashion, you corrected the situation before I could, didn’t you?”

  “Princess, I never meant—”

  Kate whipped around so quickly, Tanner felt a rush of air slap his face. Her skin dulled, pale as parchment. “Don’t you dare call me Princess.” Her hands tangled in her shawl, twisting.

  Her breath, warm and sweet, crept close. Her lips flattened, the bottom one sliding between her teeth. A stab of yearning, absent for so long he almost didn’t recognize the emotion, rocked him in his size-too-big, secondhand boots. “Kat,” he said in a strained voice, reaching out, his fingers fisted to hide the tremors shaking them. He had no idea what he appealed for.

  A heavy step sounded behind them; a hand clasped Tanner’s shoulder. “You were lucky, Tan, the stage being only two hours late.”

  Tanner turned and forced a smile, relieved and flustered. “Adam.” He nodded to the sling looped around his neck. “I would shake, but as you can see....”

  Adam’s eyes widened as he examined his friend. He seemed to remember himself and returned the smile, though it was forced. “Where is your trunk?”

  Tanner shrugged, the movement sending a slicing twinge up his arm. “No trunk. Traveling light these days.”

  “Let me guess. You raced out of Richmond with a band of ruffians on your heels,” Kate said as she passed them, heading for the rear of the coach.

  Tanner jerked his head, the ends of his sling smacking his neck. “No, a jealous husband this time. After all, sweetheart, you claim to know me so well.”

  She stopped, her chin tilting just enough. Atop a rosy flush, she maintained a tranquil expression. “My, what a surprise.”

  Tanner bowed as low as he could without sending another spear of hell up his arm. “Yes, isn’t it?”

  She blinked, screwed her beautiful face tight, and glanced away.

  The same intractable, exquisite woman.

  Damn her.

  Tanner turned to find Adam Chase studying them. His best friend in the world, perhaps his only friend, nodded, seeming to make up his mind. “Tanner, the Four Leaf Clover is a block down. On the left. Only saloon in town, can’t miss it. I’ll meet you in ten minutes.” A firm shove accompanied the dictate.

  Tanner grunted and scuffed his boot through the dirt. Fine, the illustrious Four Leaf Clover.
He refused to stand around, waiting to talk to a woman who had told him on more than one occasion that she wished he had never been born. A gust of air ripped at his shabby Chesterfield and the declaration resounded in his mind as it did each time he thought of her. Each time he recorded her progress across a crowded street as she sought to evade him.

  To hell with you, too, Kat Peters.

  Tanner glanced up as he reached the boardwalk. Wreaths of red-berried holly and some grayish leaf he couldn’t identify dangled from every wooden post and whitewashed storefront. A cloying scent lingered, one that called to mind time spent round a fire, the air thick with cigar smoke and candied yams. He and West sneaking sips of Syllabub and Madeira, and later, vomiting in Elsa’s rose bushes.

  Christmas.

  He hadn’t realized the holiday was so near. What day was it, anyway? Nineteenth? Eighteenth? Hell. Another Christmas without his family. His mother would cry, his father would rage. Why hadn’t he come home...the bank needed him...blasted newspaper business...dangerous. Tanner glanced at his arm, touched the scar on his chin.

  He stepped to the boardwalk, unable to miss the saloon, as Adam had said. The Four Leaf Clover announced itself in grand style, ornate green letters spilling across a filthy window. Ivy was draped across the entrance and wound in tight spirals on the posts outside. The saloon was the most guileless Tanner had ever seen. He paused, looking down the narrow street. Wagons pulled by sway-backed nags, women in worn gingham, baskets bobbing against their hips. A mercantile, a livery, a millenary. He leaned back, raised his hand to shade his eyes. Peters’ Millenary. He snorted. Just his goddamn luck.

  Shouldering past the swinging doors, he held his arm against his side, and ducked a fat twist of mistletoe. The calming mixture of tobacco and whiskey wafted over him. He smiled. Now that was more like it.

  A woman flaunting generous curves and a thatch of tangled, blond hair stepped forward, snagging his good arm before he reached the bar. Her bosom strained her bodice, inviting closer inspection. Tanner let his gaze linger before lifting his head. Cheap perfume, sweat, and powder entered his nose on his next breath. Ah, well, what you he expect?

  “Howdy,” he said, presenting a practiced smile. It was the first time he had said howdy in his life.

  She giggled and leaned closer, pressing her bosom into his elbow. He shifted and felt her nipple pucker into a tight bud. He’d remember the word if it worked this well.

  Red lips parted. “Oh, honey. Are you a cowboy?”

  “No.” Tanner lowered his chin and his voice. “A newspaperman.” He gave the title the stamp of a lover’s caress.

  Cowboy-lover’s shoulders drooped, sucking her breasts inside her dress. “Dang. I’ve been wanting to meet a gen-u-ine cowboy for a long time. I heard, well” —she wrinkled her nose— “I heard they’re fun. Too far out here to meet a real one. Plenty of farmers, though, and farmers are a healthy bunch. Pretty fun, farmers.”

  “Newspapermen are even more fun. Guaranteed.” Another elbow caress might get her going. A couple of drinks. He sniffed. A bath for both of them. Clean sheets.

  Cowboy-lover skimmed a chipped nail up his sleeve. “Honey, you look tired.”

  Tired? For two months, he’d slept on warehouse floors and prowled Richmond’s docks like a starved cat, conversed with dregs and tramp, and all for a story that had nearly gotten him killed. He’d come to Edgemont to let things calm down and run straight into Kat Peters. A bitter sigh slipped past his lips.

  Cowboy-lover smacked her lips, the paint-filled wrinkles quivering. “Don’t worry none, honey. I’ll fix you up fine and dandy.”

  “Two whiskeys, Doris. From my bottle. We’ll be at the usual table,” a deep voice behind them instructed.

  Cowboy-lover flashed a sour smile and marched behind the bar.

  Tanner managed a short laugh. Men in love with their wives always disapproved of trollops. “Adam. Perfect timing as always.”

  “Not much has changed, I see.”

  Tanner shrugged and smoothed his hand over the bar. Witnessing his fingers tremble, he clenched them into a fist.

  Adam’s gaze lowered, then he gestured to a dark corner in the back. “Come on. You look like you need a drink.”

  Cowboy-lover swept past them, slapped glasses on a scarred table, rubbed her hip against Tanner’s, sniffed at Adam, and pranced away.

  “You’ve made her very happy, Tan,” Adam said.

  Tanner slid into a chair, grimacing when he banged his arm on the wooden edge. “Oh? How’s that, Chase?”

  “Doris doesn’t get a lot of...attention around here.”

  Tanner took a sip, rolled the whiskey around his mouth and swallowed. The liquid blazed a fortifying trail, settling quite nicely in his gut. “Well, she’s not so bad, if that’s all you have.”

  Adam leaned forward, searching his face. A shot of discomfiture snaked along Tanner’s spine. He couldn’t guess what lurked in his eyes, was afraid to examine closely. He avoided mirrors for just that reason. Shoving his buttocks back as far as he could without toppling from the chair, he lowered his gaze to his glass.

  “What the hell if going on, Tan? You look like you haven’t slept in days, bathed in weeks, eaten in months. Christ, your clothing is hanging off you in tatters.”

  Tanner shifted, the oil lamp’s glare lighting amber fires in his glass. Amber. Like Kat’s eyes during— “Nothing. Nothing to worry about,” he said, slowly lifting his head. He cleared his throat and repeated the words in a steadier voice.

  Adam’s gaze jumped from his arm to his face. “Yes, I see.”

  “Anyway, I’m sorry to rush down here without more notice. I telegraphed as soon as I could.” He tilted his glass back and forth. “I didn’t realize how close it was to Christmas.”

  “Tanner, I’ve been asking you to come for two years. Plenty of room since I added on to the house.” Adam paused, took a deliberate sip. The flame illuminated the calculating glint in his eyes. “Maybe you can find time to write an editorial for the Sentinel while you’re here. God knows, we could use it. Besides, Charlie is so damn excited to see you, she can’t sit still.”

  Thank you, God. A safe topic. “Charlie,” Tanner said, fingering the chipped rim of his glass. “How is she?”

  “Wonderful. Beautiful. A pain in my ass.” Adam grinned and Tanner felt a moment’s envy at the expression of love on his face. “Ever since you put her on the train in Richmond and told her what you thought of me, she’s considered you a true friend. Truthfully, you didn’t have to be quite so honest.”

  “Yes, well, standing in for you that day was terribly unpleasant. I had to get some enjoyment. Ruining your good name with the woman you loved worked at the time.”

  “I’ve paid heavily for my cowardice, believe me.”

  Cowboy-lover’s heels clicked against the plank floor as she swabbed the bar and whistled “Camptown Races” in an off-key chirp. Adam’s shoulders hitched, fell. He blew out a breath, glanced at Tanner, glanced away.

  Here it comes. Tanner’s stomach sank to his boots.

  “Tan, what did I intrude upon today? By the stagecoach?”

  Tanner smiled, a slight smile, the best one he could manage. Then he drained his glass in one swallow. “Why do you think you intruded upon anything?”

  Adam’s jaw jumped as he ground his teeth together. “Fine, don’t tell me. None of my business. But let me remind you: this is a small town. So goddamned small you can stroll from one end to the other and never finish a cheroot. If you have a problem with Katherine Peters, it’ll be hard to avoid it, or her, in Edgemont. And Kate’s mother, you remember Charlie’s chaperone in Richmond, don’t you? Mrs. Peters owns a fripperies shop down the street.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I remember. I saw the sign for her store.” Tanner licked a drop of whiskey from his lip and scrutinized his empty glass with marked intent.

  Adam rolled his eyes and poured a half measure.

  Tanner frowned at the stingy allotment; Adam sighed a
nd slid the bottle out of reach.

  “Charlie’s having a Christmas tree decorating party.” Adam propped his chin on his fist and leaned forward. “If you don’t show, she will kill me. And I know for a fact Mrs. Peters is invited. Her daughter is sure to be there, too. Can you handle that without upsetting the guests? One lovely guest in particular.”

  “No problem.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Look, I knew her once. Okay?” Tanner slammed his glass to the table.

  “How well?”

  How well? Well enough for dreams to wake him. Dreams that had him desperately searching a cold bed for a warm body. Some days, when loneliness seemed a living, breathing entity inside him, he smelled her scent on his sheets.

  “How well, Tanner? I guess I should understand in the event I need to stand between you again.”

  “How well?” He tipped his glass high. Welcome warmth flowed through him. “Pretty well. About two years ago.”

  Adam’s hand shot out, entreating. “And?”

  “Suffice it to say, the lady isn’t as charmed with me as old Doris. At one time, maybe, but some well-intended lies, a series of articles in the Times, and a bit of belated, ham-fisted backtracking botched that rather well.”

  “With both of you in Richmond, seems like—”

  “Seems like nothing. Close proximity hasn’t helped. The woman literally dashes the other way when she sees me coming. Even if” —he shook his head— “even if I wanted to give the relationship another try, she has someone. Saw them twice. On the street. A few weeks later, at the opera. The second time, I asked my host who the man was.” The bastard clinging to her side, hand resting possessively on her arm. “A damned society boy. I certainly don’t reside in his circle, so I’m not acquainted with him. Too lofty an assortment for a lowly newspaperman.”

  “Maybe—”

  “Listen,” Tanner said, setting a scowl on his face he hoped would convey his exhaustion with the subject. “I’m past wanting Kat Peters to be a part of my life. She’s nothing now except a faded memory.”