Confessions of a Scoundrel
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Legend says that whomever possesses the St. John talisman ring will find their one true love. Now that the ring rests in the pocket of renowned scoundrel Brandon St. John, the dashing rake must decide whether it is a blessing…or a curse.
Never has the irresistible rogue, Brandon St. John, pursued a woman with more fervor—but his ardent suit of Lady Verena Westforth has a different purpose. The delectable blond lovely is indeed enticing, but Brandon suspects her of hiding a valuable missive that he has sworn to recover. With a sensuous kiss and a passionate caress he intends to lower Verena’s guard…and then discover where she’s hidden “the goods.”
Without the missive, Verena stands to lose the one thing dearest to her heart. And now an extraordinary man has entered her life…at the worst possible time! Vulnerable though she may be, Verena vows she will not be just another of Brandon’s “conquests,” even as she aches to melt in his arms. But is he a needed friend or a foe in alluring disguise…and will she be able to prove to him that love is their true destiny?
him. As if he knew who she was and all of her sins, and he didn’t give a damn about a one. She forced her gaze back to the stack of guineas on the table before her, her palm itching. Brandon St. John was a very dangerous man. “Lady Westforth,” Jameson slurred. “It’s your deal.” Verena took the cards, her fingers sliding over the smooth surfaces. She glanced at Brandon, but he was regarding his glass with a fixed gaze. Jameson and Cabot-Lewes were so sotted they could barely sit up. The time
“He was murdered, Verena.” Her eyes flew open. “Wh-who would do such a thing? He was a harmless old man!” Who indeed. Looking at Verena, Brand found himself faced with a very unlikely dilemma. He believed her. Verena had not known about the murder. Her reaction was too quick, too true. He would have been able to tell if she were dissembling. Relief lightened his mood and he was pondering what to do next when the doorknocker thundered. Herberts could be heard shuffling down the hall in answer.
his mission. Someone who realized the value of what he carried.” The old gentleman paused. “We believe this person laid in wait for him outside of Lady Westforth’s house, then they dragged him into an alley, and did the deed there.” Waited outside Lady Westforth’s house. Brand dropped his gaze to the teacup on the table before him, the words thrumming through his head. “Why do you think Wycham was involved in any of this? He is not capable of such a crime.” Farragut gave a wide grin. “Ye don’t
her family nearby. Oh, she’d tried to compensate by developing friendships, but she found herself holding back from most overtures, a sad effect of her upbringing. She rather thought the family motto should not have been “Forever Intrepid,” but “Trust No One.” Still…one had to have acquaintances, at least. So Verena began holding a dinner party the first Tuesday of every month. She invited a variety of people, most of them the wittier members of the demimonde. They ate, drank, laughed and
swiped at his red eyes, blinking rapidly. “Let me introduce you. This is Farragut. He works for the Home Office.” “Aye, that I do. I’ve forty years in this business. Forty bloody years. And fer what? Fer nothing! So I decided to turn my knowledge into gold.” “The list,” Verena said softly. “Aye. It’s of every operative we have in all of Europe. France alone was willin’ to pay over a hundred thousand pounds fer it.” Verena pressed a hand to her forehead as if her head hurt. “You—you gave the