Anne Stuart by Prince of Swords Read Free Book Online

grinned at her benignly. “Unless you’d rather have me call on you? This place might be a little rude for the likes of you.”
    “ This place is fine,” she said quietly, barely able to suppress her shudder of horror at the thought of her vague, aristocratic mother coming face-to-face with Josiah Clegg. Not that it was likely—Mrs. Maitland enjoyed ill health and a fondness for ratafia. She kept to her bedroom most of the time, mourning her lost position in society. She probably assumed her self-reliant older daughter was out shopping, and indeed, the basket full of slightly wilted cabbage sat under the table at Jess’s feet. She rose, and this time he let her escape.
    She could feel his eyes on her as she left the public house, squinting as she stepped out into the autumn-damp streets of Spitalfields and wrapping her heavy shawl around her. At least Clegg, who knew everything, seemed unaware of her newfound sideline, or the fact that she had already enjoyed a vicarious encounter with his latest quarry. For the time being she could balance her society readings against Clegg’s demands, and the money would pile up faster than ever, enabling the Maitlands to regain their place in society.
    At least some of the Maitlands. Fleur would be the toast of society even without a dowry, and if she were decently dressed she could attract any number of wealthy suitors. With Mrs. Maitland as a benevolent, graceful chaperon, all was assured.
    But not for Jessamine. Unlike the other members of her family, she preferred to look at the truth squarely. Her reputation could survive her collusion with Clegg—once she escaped from his clutches, it was unlikely anyone else would even hear about it. And she would survive one late-night party, reading cards and telling fortunes.
    But a repeat would doom her. Lady Plumworthy had already informed her that polite society was agog at her talents, and this afternoon’s tea and reading promised to be a crush. The guests had ignored her the other night, all but that mocking, mysterious creature who had come to her rescue so unexpectedly. They would ignore her no more, and there would be no way she could show her face in society once Fleur was launched.
    It was no matter. She had no great love for the city or for society. Fleur would simply need to find a husband wealthy enough to maintain several country estates, and his reclusive sister-in-law could retire to a graceful pattern of rural living. Solitary rural living.
    She made a moue of self-disgust. Her mother was possessed of enough self-pity to supply the entire Maitland family, and Jessamine had no intention of falling prey to such a failing. She had made her choice long before, calmly, rationally, and she would live with the consequences. Alone.
    She’d lied to Clegg, something she didn’t regret for one moment. She knew perfectly well who the Cat was—his visit to Lady Plumworthy the night before had haunted her dreams almost as much as the man who had rescued her. Taunted her.
    She reached down to pat her reticule, and she could feel the solid bulk of the cards, seemingly warm to the touch. And dancing through her mind, the Prince of Swords, with the golden eyes of a cat, staring back at her.

Four

    It was a compact house in Clarges Street, but more than ample for a man of Alistair MacAlpin’s elegant tastes. He entertained in small numbers, usually other bachelors, merely for the sake of gaming. The public rooms were not overlarge but well appointed, the bedroom sybaritic and sufficient for his habits. He was seldom called upon to offer hospitality—his family was dead, and few of his friends were in the habit of drinking so deeply that they couldn’t find their way home at the end of an evening.
    He cherished his solitude and his little house. He’d moved from cramped, drafty rooms near St. Paul’s, and if his pied-a-terre held no resemblance to the lost splendor of MacAlpin House, he didn’t mind. MacAlpin House had never been