Always a Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch Read Free Book Online Page A

conversation. Laughter and James’s black-hearted cronies didn’t seem at all compatible.
    “—don’t think you were ever afraid of me at all,” the younger of the ladies said. “Until I arrived in London, I had no idea your reputation was as awful as Phin kept telling me. You were being nice by running away from me.”
    Bram Johns coughed. “ I kept telling you that my reputation is abominable. And you were trying to frighten me by being…innocent. It still makes me shudder, Beth.”
    “Well, I’ll never say anything bad about you, no matter how much you want me to.”
    “You are a cruel chit, my dear. What about you, Alyse? Surely you can conjure something vile about me.”
    “Why don’t you ask me?” the fellow with the scar put in, grinning.
    “Don’t interrupt, Phin.”
    The second woman leaned into this Phin’s shoulder. “I’m glad to be your friend, Bram. And I’m even more glad not to be your enemy.”
    Bram nodded. “That at least sounds like a backhanded compliment.”
    As he spoke he caught sight of Lady Rosamund Davies. She quickly turned away, only to head off in a third direction after a glance toward Cosgrove, retreating from a man who hadn’t even seen her yet. Was it distaste, or was it fear? Either sentiment intrigued him, probably more than it should.
    “Excuse me, Bromleys,” he said, and left his friends to trail after Lady Rosamund. “I wouldn’t recommend running,” he drawled from behind her. “You’re not dressed for it.”
    Her shoulders stiffening, she turned around. “Lord Bramwell Johns,” she stated, her voice nearly steady.
    He inclined his head. “You’ve discovered my identity.”
    “Yes. Your misdeeds have made you quite famous. Or infamous, rather. I’d been hoping James would introduce us before today.”
    A slight smile curved his mouth. Not fear, then. And yet she didn’t seem foolish, which she would have to be to want an acquaintance with him. “Andwhy were you hoping for an introduction, Lady Rosamund?” he prompted, liking the way her name felt on his tongue.
    “Because I wanted to punch you in the nose for encouraging my brother into a life of nonsense and depravity.”
    Bramwell laughed. God, women surprised him so seldom any longer, and yet she’d managed to do so. Twice in one day, if he counted that ridiculous history tome she’d been toting about. “Nonsense, I shall admit to,” he said, continuing to chuckle. “Every man must find his own depravity. I’ll take no credit for that.”
    “Do you take credit for his losses at the table?”
    He shrugged. “He owes me a few hundred quid.” Cocking his head at her, he assessed his next move on this chessboard. “Do one thing for me, and I’ll erase the debt.”
    Rose narrowed her eyes. “What is it, exactly, that you want from me?”
    That was a more interesting question than she probably realized. And he hadn’t an answer. Not yet. He damned well meant to find one. “A dance,” he said aloud.
    Blinking, Lady Rosamund folded her arms across her not-quite-generous-enough chest. “I am not going to dance with you.”
    Yes, you are . The force of that thought unsettled him a little, but for the moment he would humor himself. He certainly had nothing better to do. “If a marriage is valued at ten thousand, surely I might have a waltz for three hundred.”
    Her fingers clenched into very determined-looking fists. “So you know about the debt.”
    He nodded. “If I’d known the prize, I might have wagered a larger sum against your brother.”
    “I am not for sale.”
    Clearly he could argue with that, but from the abrupt horror in her grass green eyes, she’d realized that at the same moment she’d spoken. Horror . He’d been forced into things he didn’t relish by the lure of funds—or of having them cut off—but the blunt had been the reward for compliance. What was her reward? Marriage to Cosgrove?
    As she started to turn her back on him, he touched her shoulder. Lightly.