Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell, page 1
KISS THE SCOUNDREL FAREWELL
ONCE UPON A WIDOW
BOOK TWELVE
AUBREY WYNNE
Copyright © 2025 by Aubrey Wynne
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Editing by The Editing Hall
Cover by Mandy Koehler
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Series List
Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell
Summary
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Aubrey Wynne
SERIES LIST
Paddy’s Peelers Mystery (Historical Romantic Suspense)
Sweet romance,
Crimes, Conspiracies, and Courtship #1
Pads, Purses, and Plum Pudding #2
Poisons, Potions, and Parasols #3
Rogues, Rotters, and Rubies #4
Wakings, Wooings, and Wrongdoings #5
Once Upon a Widow (sweet Regency)
Earl of Sunderland #1
A Wicked Earl’s Widow #2
Rhapsody and Rebellion #3
Earl of Darby #4
Earl of Brecken #5
Earl of Griffith #6
Beware a Wallflower’s Wrath #7
A Wallflower’s Wassail Punch #8
A Scoundrel’s Christmas Challenge #9
The Duplicate Duke #10
Merry Mazes and Mistletoe Magic #11
Kiss the Scoundrel Farewell #12
KISS THE SCOUNDREL FAREWELL
By
Aubrey Wynne
SUMMARY
Miss Margaret Flemming marries out of duty only to find herself at the center of a scandal. Her husband, Baron Drake, dies in a duel over another woman. With no children and no desire to be shackled again, Meg decides to enjoy life as men do. She will be the other woman instead of the wife held captive by the whims of a man. Lady Drake enjoys the freedom of her widow’s status.
Simon, Lord Hayward, agrees to marry a wealthy heiress to plump the family’s coffers. His father, in love with his mistress for decades, sets out to find his son one of his own. Simon scoffs at the idea, but when he meets an alluring courtesan at a masquerade, he finds himself smitten.
In a twist of fate, the masks come off, and Simon and Meg realize they met years ago, sharing a kiss in a duke’s garden. Their secrets come out: She is no courtesan, and he is betrothed. After the viscount confesses his love, the baroness flees for the safety of the countryside.
As Lady Drake begins to doubt her scheme of being a paramour, Lord Hayward wonders if he can be happy with a wife who is not Meg and searches her out. But his search only reveals danger lurking in the idyllic English hills, and they soon learn the past has consequences no matter who you pretend to be.
PROLOGUE
May 1817
“Be most attentive and charming toward Lord Drake tonight, Margaret,” said her mother as the carriage rattled along the cobblestones. Her fan was already out and moving at amazing speed.
“Why?” Her parents were determined to see her betrothed before the end of the Season. She was quite content with the attention of Lord Hayward. He was handsome, his dark looks practically sending her into a swoon whenever his gaze landed upon her.
“He is interested in a match, my dear,” said her father, peering out the window as the coach slowed, joining the line of vehicles making their way to the front of a marquess’s townhouse.
“I thought you wanted me to marry someone who would give us more status, Papa,” she objected. Her father was a viscount and hoped to improve the standing of his family name. “Lord Hayward will be an earl. Lord Drake is a baron.”
“Hayward’s father is floating in the River Tick. He has so many vowels, he’d be in debtor’s prison if he wasn’t a peer. Drake is one of the oldest names in London with no scandal attached to him, and he’s plump in the pockets.” He smiled at Meg. “It would be a good merger of families.”
“Remember, my dear,” added Mama, “our family is new to Debrett’s compared to many, though our coffers are fuller than most. Our wealth will complement his ancient lineage.”
“What of my brother? Will he not marry well?” Robert was never brought to task for anything.
“He will do his duty when it’s time. For now, you will lead the way with the baron. It will set Robbie up nicely for the future.” Lord Flemming’s tone brooked no argument.
Meg blinked. She had one more card to play. Lord Drake was handsome, but he was loose in the haft. “What of his womanizing?”
“The devil, girl. He’s a man and allowed to do what he wants. Just smile and be gracious.” He lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger, pinching hard. “Don’t test me on this matter, d’you understand?”
She blinked back hot tears and nodded, focusing on the pale-blue lace that overlaid her ivory gown. Stop it. Perhaps the baron would change his mind and find another family with a daughter he preferred. If not, it wasn’t as if Lord Hayward had made his intentions known. But she’d had the feeling he was interested. Their carriage stopped again, this time in front of the townhouse. She drew in a deep breath and pasted on pleasant expression, understanding how it felt to be a lamb going to slaughter.
Lord Drake was blond, short of stature, but tall with self-importance and confidence. He was good-looking, with brown, emotionless eyes and a smile that resembled more of a smirk. He danced with her twice, the last a waltz. He held her too closely, but when she tried to put distance between them, he only clamped her waist tighter.
“Don’t be shy,” he whispered, his breath moist against her ear. “I’m thinking you may be the fortunate debutante who wins my hand.”
Meg forced herself to look at him, their heights almost the same. “Shouldn’t that supposed to be the other way around, my lord?” She returned his smirk.
He laughed, causing several other couples to look in their direction. “Aren’t you a little saucebox? Good, I like a bit of fire in my bed.”
Her heart sank. She would not escape this union.
When Meg took some fresh air on the balcony, Lord Hayward found her. She felt him before he leaned onto the rail next to her. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Flemming.”
She smiled up at him, her bottom lip trembling. “And you are as handsome as ever.”
His blue eyes shone with concern. “Is everything all right?”
Meg shook her head. “I’m just overheated.”
“Would you like to take a walk? The marquess has the best garden in London.” He waggled his dark brows, his smile so inviting.
Meg had always been a dutiful daughter, avoiding moments such as this because it could lead to a kiss. In that instant, she decided on one final act of rebellion. “I would love to.”
Lord Hayward tucked her hand inside the crook of his elbow. They talked as if they had been friends forever. He spoke of racing his horse early in the morning on Rotten Row. She told him of her upcoming visit to her friend’s estate after the Season ended.
“Miss Florentia?” he asked. “She seems a prime article.”
“Oh, she’s my dearest and oldest friend,” agreed Meg. The night was humid, the air heavy with the scent of spring blooms. She studied the viscount’s profile, finding him as handsome as a Roman sculpture.
Lord Hayward stopped walking. “We should return before your mama comes looking for you.”
Meg nodded, though she could have stayed in the garden with him forever. When she gazed up at him, she saw an odd expression on his face.
“May I kiss you?” he asked, his voice low.
“Please.” Had she said please? Oh heavens, what am I doing?
Then all thoughts flew from her head as his lips brushed hers. Meg closed her eyes and reveled in the softness of his mouth, her hands moving of their own accord to clutch his waistcoat. He moaned and pulled her closer, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips. She parted them in surprise, tasting the faint lingering whiskey as he swept inside her mouth.
Her body trembled, her stomach took flight, and her heart was lost. When he leaned his head back, a smile on his handsome face, he said, “Hound’s teeth, but I’ve wanted to do that since the first time we met.”
She blinked, unable to form words. Her pulse raced, thudding in her ears. If her mother called for her now, she’d never hear. Lord Hayward tucked her hand back into the crook of his elbow and led her back to the balcony. Just as she entered the ballroom, her father found her.
“There you are, child. Come, your mother has a megrim.” He took her arm, propelling her through the crowd as she tried to see Lord Hayward over her shoulder. But he was lost behind a sea of bodies.
The next day, Lord Drake made a call. He disappeared into her father’s study, then reappeared to join her and her mother in the parlor for tea. As he flipped the tails of his coat up and sat, that familiar smirk upon his face, he said, “I’m happy to announce, Lady Tarlton, the banns will be read on Sunday for your daughter and me.”
Meg dropped her teacup, the china crashing to the floor into a thousand pieces along with her heart.
CHAPTER 1
January 1821
Just outside London
Margaret, Lady Drake finished signing the banknote and leaned back in her chair. The weather was dreary, another cold rainy day. The library, with its dark furniture and bookshelves, added to the gloom. She replaced the stopper on the ink bottle and slid the pen into a drawer, wondering what she should read on the drive home.
There was a knock on the door, and Katherine, Dowager Countess of Wyndam entered. The sapphire on her mahogany cane gleamed in the firelight as she entered. She was a founding member of the Widows’ League and highly respected by all its members.
“Meg, dear. It’s good to see you.” The countess moved briskly for a woman of her enduring years and took a leather wingback chair near the hearth. She smoothed back her silver-streaked dark hair and looked at Margaret expectantly.
“Your note said you would arrive this afternoon. It sounded urgent.” Margaret joined her with a smile, wondering what had brought her out on such a bleak day. “I just took care of my dues for the Widows’ League,” she said, nodding to the butler who appeared at the door.
Mr. Smith was immaculate as always. His dark hair sprinkled with gray was combed back, the black waistcoat, pants, and jacket without a wrinkle or unintended crease. “I assume you will want tea, my ladies?” he asked.
Margaret looked to the countess for confirmation.
“Not yet, Smith. I will have a rest and unpack first. Have Cook prepare shortbread to be served with it.” Lady Wyndam’s gaze returned to Margaret, her shrewd blue eyes taking in the length of Meg. “You look well. Ready to return south?”
“I am, ma’am,” Meg said, thinking of Drake House and its occupants. She preferred the quiet life on her small southern estate in Hampshire. She enjoyed her role as baroness, helping the tenants and villagers. Her life there was full there, with few worries.
Her month-long stays here, just outside London, added the needed spice to her life. A smile pulled at her lips, remembering the gentleman she had kissed a few nights ago in the dark.
“Still masquerading?” asked Lady Wyndam, her dark brows raised.
“Occasionally,” she answered, her head snapping up at the countess’s tone. “Why?”
“My grandson heard a certain viscount bragging about a conquest, a masked beauty who would be his next mistress. I thought of you.” The older woman leaned forward. “Lord Belten has quite a temper and may be dangerous when crossed, especially toward women. And he seems quite determined to uncover this paramour’s identity. I’ve heard he’s dicked in the nob, so please be careful.”
A tremor of foreboding passed through Margaret. “Why do men feel the need to lie about their feats with women? I appreciate the information and will keep that in mind. Fortunately, I’m returning home tomorrow.”
“Which leads us to the reason I’ve come,” began the countess. “It seems Lady Winfield is betrothed and will not be taking her turn occupying the house next month. As you know, weddings end a membership with us.”
Margaret grinned. “I heard rumors but didn’t know whether to trust them. Is it true she’s marrying her first love?”
“I’m happy for her. However, we must find someone to stay for the month of February. I can be here for a week at most…” Lady Wyndam’s voice trailed off as her meaning became clear.
The manor was a haven for widows who found themselves in need of assistance, physically or financially. The membership dues allowed the Widows’ League to help widows find shelter, pay rent or taxes if needed, escape harmful situations, or provide discreet legal advice. The members took turns staying at the manor, so someone was always available.
“I realize you don’t like to reside in London during the Season. With the weather, it will be a slow start this year. I thought, perhaps, just this once?”
The countess rarely asked for favors. Without the League’s help, Margaret would have lost her home, an unentailed estate left to her according to her husband’s will. His son from his first marriage had tried to nullify the transfer of the deed to her. Without funds to hire a solicitor and bring the case to court, she would have had to return to her parents’ home—and been married off again—or been destitute.
With a sigh, she nodded. “Of course. If you don’t mind giving me a week to take care of a few things at Drake House, I will come back for the remaining three weeks.”
Lady Wyndam beamed. “I knew we could count on you. I’ve brought my trunk, so we shall have a splendid evening together before you leave.”
Two weeks later
Margaret traced the lips of the plaster mask. Glazed black with tiny pieces of jade bordering the face, it covered her identity except for her mouth and eyes. She was always careful to wear a dark netting and veil to cover her flaxen tresses.
This was the only gift she’d ever received from her husband.
Your eyes match the gems, my dear, he’d whispered in her ear as he’d placed it on her. It had been the same night she’d learned of his mistress. One of the many he would parade about Town, taunting her for lack of another heir.
She shook her head, dashing away the memories. His only present gave her the anonymity she needed when venturing out. Margaret had sworn she would never again be the lonely wife waiting at home for her husband. She would play the other woman but never, ever give the man what he truly wanted.
So now, twice a year during her month-long stays for the Widows’ League, she had chosen a man to exact her own secret form of revenge. Meg selected her victim from the broad sheets and names rampant in the on-dits. Those merry rogues who considered infidelity an assumed part of the institution of marriage. It often took only two or three rendezvous to bring the man to heel. Then she would disappear and leave them searching for her, desperate to find the perfect courtesan who promised such enticing diversions.
Lord Belten, her third prey, had been particularly satisfying. He was an arrogant man, looking down on those who were not his equal and finding women a vehicle for his pleasure. It had not surprised her when Lady Wyndam said he’d bragged about tupping her. As if she would let that pale, lecherous man touch her. Except for one kiss at the end. The farewell kiss.
It had been so exciting at first, the exhilaration almost addictive. Until she’d come across him.
Tall, broad shoulders, raven hair, and blue eyes the color of a stormy sea. She had run into him quite by accident at a private masquerade last month, looking for Lord Belten. The attraction had been immediate and inexplicable. Margaret thought she’d become immune to seduction. This man’s unsolicited kiss had affected her like… No, she wouldn’t dwell on the past.
Call me Marcus, he’d said, though she knew it wasn’t his name. Why did he also hide his identity? The mystery now haunted her dreams. Was karma turning the tables on her?
Placing the mask in her reticule, she checked her hair one last time. Not a blonde strand to be seen. She wore a dark-blue velvet skirt with a slightly lighter shade for the beaded bodice. The paste diamonds glittered as she moved before the mirror. Long dark gloves covered her hands, and the snood was the same midnight-blue as the gown.
Miss Florentia Baldwin, her childhood friend—her only friend outside of the Widows’ League—kept her informed of opportunities when Margaret was in Town. Tia’s father was a viscount who enjoyed gossip as much as any lady of the ton. She often eavesdropped on his conversations with friends after a dinner party or his valet as he dressed to go out.
