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

Even through the green silk of her gown, his fingers felt scalded, and he withdrew them swiftly.
    “A trade, then,” he continued, as she faced him again. He flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to shake them.
    “I have no idea what you’re talk—”
    “Once the rest of Mayfair hears you’re to marry Kingston Gore, very few gentlemen will be willing to risk stepping onto the floor with you. If you dance with me tonight, though, I will dance with you later, when no one else will. And I’ll forgive your brother’s debt.”
    He wanted to touch her again, to see whether that odd heat would repeat itself, but at the same time the idea worried him. He enjoyed sex, but one woman served as well as another. Touching a female’s arm did not scorch him, and certainly not through cloth.
    Green eyes studied his face in that direct, disconcerting way he’d already noticed that she had. “You’ll forgive James’s debt.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you will not wager with him again.”
    “That will take two dances.”
    Rosamund glanced in the direction of her parents, who’d been foolish enough to wander halfway across the room without her. Of course they’d been foolish enough to let their son bury them in debt, and to send their daughter off as a sacrifice, so their lack of attention wasn’t unexpected. “I doubt you’ll hear a waltz played tonight.”
    He grimaced. Damned powder-wigged drudges. “A quadrille, then, for tonight. And the promise of a waltz at the next soiree you attend.”
    “Very well,” she said slowly.
    His mouth curved again. “Good.” Bram stuck out his hand. “Let’s shake on our agreement, shall we?”
    Her mouth opened again, and he abruptly wanted to kiss her. Another oddity, because he rarely kissed. Whatever the devil was wrong with him, it seemed to involve her. When she touched her palm to his and curled her fingers around his, warmth shot through his hand down his spine, and slammed into his groin. It took more self-restraint than he generally showed to keep from pulling her into his arms.
    Lady Rosamund made a small sound and swiftly withdrew her hand, flexing her fingers as she did so. For God’s sake, she’d felt it too. He looked at her, for once not certain what to say.
    An arm draped across his shoulder. “Ah, Bramwell, I see you’ve met my intended,” King drawled, gazing at Rosamund.
    “Yes. I was just congratulating her,” he heard himself say, noting that King’s almost-betrothed had lost several shades of color. “And I’ve gotten myself a quadrille,” he continued, “because apparently waltzing is forbidden here.”
    “That is a shame,” Cosgrove said. “Where but a waltz or a marriage bed can a man and a woman be so intimate?” The marquis grinned. “Other than the odd brothel or broom closet or closed carriage or…more discriminating soiree, that is?”
    Rosamund’s color returned in a rush. “Excuse me, my lords,” she said, bobbing a stiff curtsy. “I think I hear my mother calling me.”
    Bram’s gaze lowered to the curve of her hips as she hurried away from them. He’d heard Cosgrove give a near duplicate of that speech before, but the female in that instance had been neither shocked nor virginal.
    “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to chase after her now.” King sighed. “I imagine her mother and sister are equally as frigid.”
    “Then why bother?” Bram asked, managing just the right degree of cynical amusement. For once the tone sounded odd on his lips, because surprisingly he didn’t feel much amused at all.
    “‘Why bother?’” King repeated. “Because it will be very, very amusing. I daresay in six months you won’t even recognize proper, clenched Lady Rose Davies.” He tightened his grip on Bram’s shoulder. “And her damned father forced a month’s delay on me. Apparently he wants it to look like a love match. I think that was Levonzy’s doing, but it does make the game more interesting, I suppose. So keep the agreement to