Artful Deceptions by Patricia Rice Read Free Book Online Page B

overdressed, overweight hostess go in search of a better selection for him.
    But even as Galen sorted Melanie out from all the others, his memory kept snagging on a barely perceptible winsome smile that appeared and disappeared so quickly as to leave no trace. Why he should remember that smile, he had no clue, unless it had something to do with the haunting enchantment of the Mona Lisa’s. And he really didn’t think he could classify Miss Arianne Richards as a Mona Lisa. Not to mention that she was much too prim and respectable to be in that dubious lady’s company, but it would never occur to her to seduce a man with a smile. No, it must be just that she so seldom smiled, a man noticed when she did.
    Satisfied with that decision, Galen gave a nod of agreement as the hostess led out a pleasantly blond young lady of pleasing proportions. The girl’s smile showed healthy white teeth, and she clung to his arm quite agreeably. Galen set down his snifter, gave Rhys a nod, and set out in the direction of the stairs.
    Rhys watched him go with a glare that had nothing to do with the company of the young woman presently trying to climb onto his lap. It didn’t take a blind man to notice that Galen had chosen the one woman in this place that resembled Lady Melanie Griffin. Rhys wanted to reach up and grab the other man’s collar and jerk him back for a serious blow to the jaw.
    The irrationality of that thought brought Rhys to his senses. There was absolutely no resemblance between that prostitute and his best friend’s sweet-natured sister. The fact that Galen had gone off with the best-looking whore in the house was scarcely unusual. Rhys had never particularly resented Locke’s easy charm and wealth. Actually, he liked the man, as much as he could like the man who would no doubt marry Lady Melanie. Doubtless Evan and Gordon felt the same way. It was a damn good thing that he had no younger sister of his own. A damn good thing.
    With that return of his own problem, Rhys abruptly set his disappointed companion back to the floor and rose. There was no point in wasting good coins tonight when he was only in a mood to punch and throttle. He would do better to clear his head in the night air.
    It was a long walk back to his rooms near the market at St. James’s, but he needed the exercise to work off his anger. Not that anything ever completely disposed of it. It was just that sight of that painting had stirred up old injustices and hurts, pains he had thought long since buried under acceptance. And after seeing that painting, he could never completely accept again.
    He would have to do something about it. He could no longer go on believing what he had been told. When he was younger, it had been emotion that had led him to deny what they said. Over the years, their reason and logic and evidence had won out. But now there was one bit of evidence to support his soul’s howling fury. One tiny little shred to give him the impetus he needed.
    He had gone screaming off to war last time, but a quick and merciful death had been denied him. Now, faced with the reality of a long life stretching ahead of him, a life that he had never expected to face, Rhys could not do it without knowing in his heart that it was the life he was meant to live.
    He had learned to live without fine wine and elegant food during the war. Uniforms had easily replaced fashionable clothes. And when they had become little more than tatters, anything at all had been comfort enough. So he fitted well enough into his life now, content with a full belly and a warm coat on his back. He could do it without complaint.
    But the life that he had lost still nagged him. Remembering an enchanting face, a lilting smile, a soft hand, he groaned, and walked faster. There were women enough in the workaday world that he frequented now. Few had the charm and education that wealth could bring, but there were certain to be a few good sober women he could choose among. Supporting a