Helen Dickson - A Scoundrel of Consequence

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

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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.

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

The Rainborough Inheritance #24

Honour Bound #38

Katherine #56

An Illustrious Lord #80

An Innocent Proposal #104

Conspiracy of Hearts #114

Lord Fox’s Pleasure #130

Carnival of Love #137

The Pirate’s Daughter #143

Highwayman Husband #154

The Property of a Gentleman #160

Belhaven Bride #190

The Earl and the Pickpocket #201

His Rebel Bride #222

A Scoundrel of Consequence #248

Rogue’s Widow, Gentleman’s Wife #853

Wicked Pleasures #873

#919 ONE CANDLELIT CHRISTMAS

Julia Justiss, Annie Burrows and Terri Brisbin

Have yourself a Regency Christmas! Celebrate the season with three heartwarming stories of reconciliation, surprises and secret wishes fulfilled….

#920 THE BORROWED BRIDE—Elizabeth Lane

Preparing to marry her childhood sweetheart, Hannah Gustavson is torn by his sudden disappearance. Judd Seavers cannot just watch his brother’s woman struggle alone. So begins their marriage of convenience….

Can he give up the woman he has come to love?

#921 UNTOUCHED MISTRESS—Margaret McPhee

Rakish Guy Tregellas, Viscount Varington, is more than intrigued on discovering a beautiful woman washed up on a beach. Helena McGregor seeks anonymity in London from a dark past—but she needs the help of her disturbingly handsome rescuer….

A Regency rake finds himself a mistress in name only!

#922 HER WARRIOR SLAVE—Michelle Willingham

Kieran Ó Brannon sold himself into slavery for his family, but despite steadfast loyalty, he cannot deny the intensity of his feelings for his master’s betrothed—Iseult. She, too, must decide if succumbing to her fierce desire for the captured warrior is worth losing what she prizes most….

A dramatic medieval tale of untamed passion…

#247 A LESS THAN PERFECT LADY—Elizabeth Beacon

At seventeen, Miranda Braxton shocked the world by eloping with her brother’s tutor. Now a wiser and widowed lady, she returns to Carnwood—and finds herself engaged in a battle of wits with the new earl.

Her beauty and bravery would tempt a saint—and the earl is far from that!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

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.