A Lady’s Lesson in Scandal by Meredith Duran Read Free Book Online Page B

not read anything since Mum had passed. Her fury had been too thick for words to penetrate.
    Indeed, she rather felt like she’d woken up this morning from a long, mindless binge on gin. The numbness was gone. Her senses seemed sharpened, startling at everything. Even the play of sunlight on the carpet, the moving shadows of leaves, made her flinch.
    She loosed a long breath. The book would fetch a good price. She tucked it under the mattress and cast her eye around for more.
    By the time she heard footsteps in the hall, she’d picked out several likely pieces: a scrap of lace that had been sitting beneath a vase on the little round table by the bed; a china figurine of a dopey-eyed milkmaid; two silver candlestick holders. She slid them underneath the mattress alongside the book, then sat down atop them as the door opened.
    “La-di-da,” she cooed as St. Maur walked in—a fine gold watch in his fob, his tie crisp and as white as a baby’s first diaper. His black hair was brushed back in thick, rippling waves from the sharp bones of his face. “A far finer sight with your clothes on,” she said, and there was a lie she’d tell again and again even if he tortured her. “Me eyes was right sore from the abuse they endured last night.”
    His easy smile looked genuine. It made a dimple pop out in his right cheek, proof that preachers lied when they said God was just. Wasn’t any fairness in giving a man with money the sort of face this one was sporting. “Now, now, my dear,” he said as he took up a position against the wall by the door. Didn’t cross his arms or cock his knee or take any measures to look intimidating; rather, he slung his hands in his pockets and tipped his head as casually as a street Arab aiming for an open-eyed nap. “Let’s not begin our discussion dishonestly. I’m a lovely sight with my clothes off, and we both know it.”
    Whatever reply she’d been expecting, it had not been
that
. She’d known some peacocks in her time but it took downright cheek to reply to insults with self-praise. “Big head on you,” she said, unwillingly impressed.
    “Doubtless,” he replied.
    Silence fell as they studied each other. He had anexcellent poker face. Probably made a killing at the card table, and she didn’t doubt he played. He had the mouth of a sinner, his upper lip sharply bowed, his lower full and wide. That mouth had done expert things to her own last night. He knew how to use it.
    The thought made her itchy. She looked away for the space of a breath, then back. His growing smile lent him a wicked, sensual air. He looked too comfortable with himself to be a man who cared for Sunday manners.
    “You seem cheerful,” he said.
    Did she? Then she had a brilliant poker face, too. “I feel cheerful,” she lied. Like a cat forced into water. “A little West End holiday, like a free night in a fine hotel. Leaves me fresh for the coppers, no doubt.”
    He lifted his brows in a look of surprise. She got the feeling he was putting it on for show. “Forgive me; I thought I’d made this clear last night. I don’t intend to call the police. I hope that fear didn’t trouble your sleep.”
    Why it hadn’t made one good question. Why he wasn’t calling the police made another, but she was hardly going to press her luck by asking. “Kind of you. But if it’s not the blockhouse for me, then I’d best be going.”
    “Have somewhere to be, do you?”
    She maintained her smile by an effort. She had the pawnshop to visit, in fact. “Sure, and I can’t be missing work, now, can I?”
    “And where do you work?” he asked.
    She laughed, though it wasn’t funny. “Wouldn’t you like to find out!”
    “Indeed, I would.”
    The intensity of his interest suggested an irksomepossibility. “Don’t tell me you’re one of those do-gooders.” She was done with them. Blooming hypocrites! Come to Bethnal Green with concerned little frowns, luring girls with promises, when all they had to offer was