Seducing The Scoundrel: Wicked Widows League, #1

By Nadine Millard

Married at eighteen and widowed only two years later, Lady Emmaline Stretham has never truly gotten to experiene life. A Season had never been necessary, and locked away with a cruel, unfeeling husband in the countryside of Ireland hasn't given he the chance to truly live. 

So when the opportunity arrives to spread her wings a little, and with teh relative freedom of being a widow, she decides to take it. What harm would it do to live a little safe in teh knowldge that she'll never have to marry again? 

 

Dominic Tilton has only ever wanted adventure, freedom, and teh occasional woman to warm his bed. So a summer spent in dreary London isn't exactly his idea of a good time. But after meeting the delectable (if a little shy) Lady Stretham he decides she's as good a distraction as any. After all, seducing beautiful ladies is one of his favourite pastimes. 

 

A secret assignation seems the perfect distraction for Dominic, and the perfect adventure for Emmaline. But the more time they spend together the more Dominic begins to question if he is the seducer, or if he is being seduced. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nadine Millard
• Release date: Jun 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223813064

Book preview

Seducing The Scoundrel

Wicked Widows League

Prologue

Congratulations on your betrothal, Emmaline. We’ll be calling you Lady Stretham soon, I suppose.

Emmaline’s jaw was aching, but she managed to keep her smile in place, stiff though it was. A glance around the room at the many faces staring at her eagerly was proof that it would be hours before she got out of here.

Her father stood proud as punch, accepting felicitations from neighbours, friends, and members of the circle that he’d always dreamed of joining. Her father was nothing if not aggressively upwardly mobile. Which is how she found herself standing here accepting well wishes on an engagement that he’d entered into on her behalf. She was six months from her eighteenth birthday. And her fiancé was three months from his sixtieth. She would be his fourth wife.

Bile rose in her throat, and she slipped behind an obnoxiously large plant to take a moment to herself. Her life had been utterly turned upside down. Only weeks out of mourning her mother she’d been called into her father’s study to be faced with the thrice widowed Lord Stretham, a man old enough to be her father, her grandfather even.

She’d sat in stunned silence whilst Lord Stretham had crudely questioned her fertility and her ability to carry his babies. Married three duds, one after the other, he’d grunted, his face wreathed in cheroot smoke. Hoping a younger one will be a good breeder. Can’t leave the title in the hands of some unknown male relative.

Emmaline had been disgusted and terrified. Yet when she’d looked to her father expecting him to defend her against such uncouth talk, he’d merely shot her a warning glare before refilling the earl’s brandy.

And now only weeks later she was hiding in her own drawing room, a sacrificial lamb forced to do the bidding of a selfish, grasping father.

The poor girl. Does she have any idea what she’s getting into? Emmaline’s ears pricked up at the sound of a rather slurred, male voice. Everyone knows he offed his last three wives for not giving him an heir.

It’s never been proven. And this one is barely out of short skirts so maybe she’s more fertile. Maybe he tupped them all to death trying to impregnate them.

Emmaline’s stomach turned in response to what she was hearing. The vulgarity as well as the shocking claim that Lord Stretham was a murderer. It couldn’t be true. Surely it couldn’t. But it was clear that the man had a terrible reputation when it came to women, regardless of whether or not he harmed them on purpose.

Her breathing grew shallow to the sounds of the gentlemen’s ribald laughter, and she could feel the walls closing in on her. She had to get away. She had to get out.

Running toward the French doors that led to the gardens, Emmaline pulled at the neck of her gown, feeling as though it were growing tighter with every laboured breath. The doors were in sight. She could do it. She’d get out and just – just take a minute to breathe and get her bearings and then she’d be calm enough to talk to her father.

He’d never given her any reason to believe that he particularly cared for her but if she could appeal to his common sense, if she could find even a modicum of caring inside him, if she could convince him to allow her to have a Season and just try to find good match then she could avoid all of this.

But it was futile, she knew. Her father had heard the title ‘Countess’ attached to her name and that had sealed her fate. So now, she must prepare herself for a lifetime of misery.

Biting back a sob, she finally broke through the throng to the balcony, eyes smarting and heart hammering almost out of her chest. She’d never felt so out of control, so boxed in. Her whole life was spread before her, bleak and unrelenting under the thumb of a disgusting ogre of a man.

Lovely evening, is it not? Emmaline gasped and spun around at the sound of a voice behind her as an elegant lady stepped out from the shadows. Though perhaps it is not as pleasant for you as it is for the rest of us?

Emmaline could only stare as the lady, older than her but rather striking, came fully into view. Her brown hair was streaked with grey and though she stood straight and proud, she leaned on an intricately carved cane as she ran a discerning eye over Emmaline. She vaguely recognised the rather redoubtable lady, but she’d been introduced to so many people tonight it was hard to keep track of them.

You’re trying to figure out who I am, the lady said, her forthright manner strangely endearing. Not to worry, I’m sure your head is positively spinning with all these goings on. I’ll reintroduce myself. I am Lady Wyndam, and I’m here because I move in the same circles as your wretched fiancé.

Oh, um  - h-how do you do, my lady? I am –

Yes, yes, child. I know who you are.

Emmaline abruptly closed her mouth and wondered if the lady might not be a little addled. Though she seemed I possession of all her faculties. In fact, Emmaline rather got the impression that her senses would be too scared to leave her.

Your situation is rather bleak, is it not? Betrothed to a man so much older than you. And a swine, too, by all accounts. I knew two of his former wives. Dear, sweet women who deserved better.

Emmaline could only stand in silence as Lady Wyndam once more ran an eye over her. The look seemed searching, as though she were seeking out a secret. And though she didn’t quite know why, she found herself tilting her chin and defiantly meeting the lady’s gaze.

At that small action, Lady Wyndam broke into a delighted laugh. Just so. I suspected you had some fire in you. You might just survive him yet, Miss Emmaline.

Survive him? Emmaline’s stomach dropped even as she felt a measure of pride at Lady Wyndam’s approval.

I heard talk inside. Gossip, really. About how Lord Stretham might have – well, might have-

Gotten rid of his wives? the lady supplied helpfully before scoffing. That oaf is many deplorable things but not a murderer. You’ll be safe, if not miserable.

I suppose I should be grateful for that at least, Emmaline said miserably.

The lady took another step forward, the head of her cane shining in the moonlight.

He’ll drink himself to death before he does you irreparable harm, my dear, she said, her voice laced with sympathy. For some reason it made Emmaline want to cry. You’ll do everything to keep your strength, keep that fire lit. And when he shuffles off the mortal coil, you’ll be free.

He could live for years, Emmaline responded feeling a twinge of guilt at being disappointed in that. And – well, if I have children-

Stuff and nonsense. He’s got one leg in the grave already and the old goat is too proud to admit that the problem is him, not the women he keeps collecting. No, you’ll get your life back one day, my dear. I promise you that.

She reached out and grabbed hold of Emmaline’s gloved hand in one of her own.

Keep heart, Emmaline. Keep thinking of that future of freedom and all the fun you can have.

It seemed so distant at that moment that Emmaline could only shake her head in despair. But a squeeze of her fingers brought her attention back to the other lady on that quiet, darkened balcony, worlds away from the party inside.

And when it arrives, there’ll be help available to guide you.

Without another word, Lady Wyndam turned away and glided back into the ballroom. It took an age for Emmaline to realise that the hand she’d grabbed was no longer empty.

She looked down at the ivory card, the gold embossed lettering just visible in the dim night.

Katherine Lockley: Lady Wyndam it said on one side. When she flipped it over there was an address for a place called Matron Manor.

And when she lowered her gaze to the handwritten  note, she felt a tiny kernel of hope awake inside her.

When you’re ready to fly, come to us. We will help you find your wings. WWL.

Emmaline wasn’t entirely sure what it meant, but she pressed the card between her shaking hands and looked up at the sky, determined to imagine a future that might belong to just her.

CHAPTER ONE

Emmaline sighed in relief as the carriage finally came to a trundling stop. The journey from the harbour where her ship had docked had been less than pleasant and her stomach was still not the better of it. In fact, she’d cast up her accounts more in the past week than she ever had before in her life.

Some of it though, she had to admit to herself, was from the nervousness that she hadn’t been able to shake since she’d made the decision to come here. The much abused calling card