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A Scoundrel of Consequence
Helen Dickson
William Lampard, distinguished military captain, kept London abuzz with scandal.Against his better judgment, he made a wager to seduce Miss Cassandra Greenwood. But despite her provocative ways, and the impudent sway of her skirts, he quickly realized that her innocence and goodness put her above a mere dalliance. Should Cassandra believe the gossip?She knew she had spiked William's interest, but to get to know the infamous captain properly would be dangerous—and exciting. And therein lay his appeal. . . !
The wager he had made bothered him.
And his conscience, that he’d thought long since dead, chose that moment to resurrect itself. Realizing the enormity of what he’d done, William was already regretting it. He had taken the wager to seduce a woman he found to be full of goodness, trusting and candid—a combination of wisdom and naïveté that was undeniably lovely. Miss Greenwood was above a mere dalliance. It was madness, and he hated himself with a virulence that nearly knocked the breath out of him.
For the first time in a long time he had met a woman without guile. Her young, innocent face passed before his mind’s eye, a face of much seriousness, a ripe, opulent beauty that made his blood stir hotly. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined anyone like Miss Greenwood. For some peculiar reason that was quite beyond him, it mattered what she thought of him.
A Scoundrel of Consequence
Harlequin
Historical
HELEN DICKSON
was born and still lives in south Yorkshire, with her husband on a busy arable farm, where she combines writing with keeping a chaotic farmhouse. An incurable romantic, she writes for pleasure, owing much of her inspiration to the beauty of the surrounding countryside. She enjoys reading and music. History has always captivated her, and she likes travel and visiting ancient buildings.
A Scoundrel of Consequence
HELEN DICKSON
TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter One
1813
Thundering down the length of track in a deserted Green Park as dawn was breaking filled William Lampard with exhilaration. A stiff breeze was rolling away the early morning mist and the park stretched out in shades of green and brown and grey. Stabs of sunlight between the clouds edged the colours in bright gilding, and birds were waking in the foliage. For those few minutes as he raced along, there was just him and his horse—no duties, no expectations, just sheer abandon and forgetfulness of all the obligations that awaited him.
Slowing his horse to a more sedate trot, he left the track and directed it beneath some sheltering trees, thinking how good it felt to be back in London after three years as a soldier fighting the war in Spain. Suddenly, the serenity of the early summer morning was shattered by the explosion of a gunshot. A force hit him in the shoulder and the world hurtled in a slow tumble as he toppled out of the saddle on to the dew-soaked grass, where he sank into a black hole and everything ceased to exist.
Cassandra was travelling to her place of work earlier than usual and taking a short cut through the park when she heard the shot. Seeing a horse and rider leave the shelter of the trees and ride as if the devil himself was after him, she urged Clem to drive the carriage into the trees to investigate. On seeing the wounded man she immediately climbed out, believing he had been shot in a duel, since Green Park was often a venue for those sinister appointments in the dawn mist. Coming to her side, Clem bent and rolled the limp form over, nodding his head in relief as he took in the slow, shallow breathing.
‘He isn’t dead, thank the Lord.’
When sanity returned to William, somewhat hazily, it was to find a young woman in a dark grey coat kneeling beside him, and a short, stout man holding his frightened horse. There was a dull throbbing in his head, and an ache in his shoulder that pulsed in unison with it.
Cassandra gazed down into two crystal-clear orbs. There was a vibrant life and an intensity in those eyes, dark, brilliant blue, like the sea in a summer storm that no one could deny. ‘I’m happy to see you are still with us,’ the woman said in a soft, well-bred voice. She held her head gracefully, the brim of her bonnet casting a light shadow over her face. ‘You have been shot. Let’s hope your wound is not serious.’
William returned her smile with difficulty and tried to allay her fears by pushing himself up against a tree. He winced as pain—red hot and piercing—shot through his shoulder, then closed his eyes and rested his head back. Without more ado the woman briskly unfastened his bloodsoaked jacket, removed his crisp white cravat and opened his shirt, her expression schooled to a nun-like impassivity as she examined his wound. William’s gaze flickered to the slender fingers pressing a wad of cloth against the torn flesh to staunch the flow of blood.
‘You’ve done this before, I can see that,’ he remarked, his voice deep and strong.
‘I have, but usually my patients haven’t been shot and they are much smaller than you.’
As she worked, Cassandra noted that the wounded man’s clothes were of expensive elegance that could only have come from one of the ton’s foremost tailors. Having lost his hat in the fall, his hair, thick and dark brown, fell in disarray about his head, shading his wide brow and brushing his collar. About thirty years of age, his face was handsome, recklessly so, lean and hard. His nose was straight, his jaw uncompromisingly square. He had fine dark brows that curved neatly, and a firm but almost sensuous mouth. Everything about him was elegantly aristocratic, exuding power and a sense of force.
When the wad was secure she rested back on her heels and met his gaze. ‘There. I think you’ll live. Not much damage done—more to your pride I’d say. When will you gentlemen learn to settle your quarrels in a more civilised manner? Duelling is certainly not the answer.’ Without giving William a chance to utter a reply in his defence, she got to her feet. ‘Now come along. Try to stand. I think a doctor should take a look at that shoulder.’
‘There’s no need for that. If you’ll get your man to bring my horse, I’ll be on my way.’
‘The bullet’s still in there. It will have to be extracted and the wound dressed properly.’ William uttered a protest, but it emerged as little more than a croak and when he tried to move, his limbs would not obey. Cassandra looked at him crossly. ‘Please don’t argue. You are in no position to object.’ She turned to Clem. ‘Come and help Mr…’
‘Captain. I am Captain William Lampard,’ he provided with difficulty as a fresh wave of pain swept through him.
‘Oh!’
William saw an odd, awed expression cross her face as she scrutinised him, and in her eyes a momentary flash of a deeply rooted dislike. ‘You’ve heard of me?’
‘Yes, your name is familiar to me—although you are better known as Lord Lampard, the Earl of Carlow.’
Cassandra had heard all about Captain Lampard. He was an arrogant lord who thought he could do as he pleased with whomever he pleased. For years, gossip had linked him with every beautiful female in London. His scandals were infamous. Whenever he was on respites from his military duties he was the talk of the town, and any sensible young woman mindful of her reputation kept well out of his way. The same could be said of his young cousin, Edward Lampard, who she had already decided possessed the same traits—for hadn’t he tried to compromise her own sister, and the silly girl would have let him if she could have had her way?
‘You’ve recently returned from foreign parts, I believe.’ Her expression did not alter, but something in her eyes stirred and hardened and she compressed her lips.
‘Spain.’
‘Yes, well, I’d have thought you would have had enough of fighting in the Peninsula,’ she remarked haughtily.
William had to stifle the urge to smile at her tart reprimand. ‘I have, more than enough. By your reaction to my identity, I strongly suspect my reputation has gone before me, but let me tell you that it is much a matter of gossip and wishful dreaming.’
‘If you say so, Captain Lampard, but it really is none of my business.’
‘Would you think it forward of me if I were to ask you your name?’
‘Not at all. I am Cassandra Greenwood.’
‘Miss Greenwood, I am most pleased to meet you, and I’m thankful you came along when you did.’
Cassandra slowly arched a brow and her smile was bland. ‘So you should be. Now come along and I’ll get Dr Brookes to take a look at you.’
‘Dr Brookes?’
‘He’s a doctor at St Bartholomew’s Hospital. He comes to help out when I need him at the institute. I’m expecting him first thing, which is why you find me out and about so early. Don’t worry. I have every faith in his ability as a doctor. He’ll soon have you fixed up.’
Observing the stubborn thrust of her chin and the glint of determination in her eye, William raised a brow in amusement. ‘I see you have no intention of relenting.’
‘Quite right, sir. When Dr Brookes has finished with you, Clem will take you home to Grosvenor Square in the carriage.’
William gave her a quizzical look. ‘You know where I live?’
‘Oh, yes, Captain Lampard, I do know that much about you—and some more,’ she uttered softly, which brought a puzzled frown to William’s brow, ‘but we won’t go into that just now. It would be inadvisable for you to ride after sustaining a wound that rendered you unconscious. There is every possibility that you would fall off your horse and incur a more severe injury, which would incapacitate you for some time.’
‘Perish the thought,’ William said wryly.
‘Quite,’ Cassandra replied. ‘After awaiting your return from Spain for so long, no doubt the entire female population in London would go into a decline. Now come along. See if you can stand.’ She would have liked nothing more than to help him on to his horse and send him on his way, but that would be a cowardly thing to do simply because he had a poor reputation.
Impressed by her efficiency and naturally authoritative tone, William tried to get up, but fell back as a fresh haziness swept over him.
