Between a Rake and a Hard Place by Connie Mason Read Free Book Online Page A

it a squint-eyed gaze. Then she touched the end to the surface of her brandy and brought it to her mouth. At the last moment, she stopped.
    â€œYou were going to tell me what gentlemen say about ladies while they’re smoking their cigars?” Then she slipped the end of the cigar into her pink bow of a mouth.
    Jonah was unprepared for the sudden rush of blood to his groin. There was something decidedly erotic about a beautiful woman with a thick Havana between her lips. But before he could answer her question or, more importantly, explain how to draw the smoke in and hold it in her mouth without inhaling, a knock came at the door.
    She quickly handed the cigar back to him.
    She might be unconventional, but she wasn’t ready to be seen as such by anyone but him. The knowledge was oddly endearing. He enjoyed sharing her secrets.
    â€œCome,” Jonah said.
    The door opened slightly and Paulson stood at the threshold. “Beggin’ your pardon, sir, but there’s a runner here for you.”
    â€œTake the message.”
    â€œThe fellow is under orders not to give it to anyone but you. He claims he’ll wait until you’ve time to see him, even if it means he sleeps on the front steps all night.” Paulson dropped his voice to a whisper. “He says it has to do with a certain French incident. He seemed to think you’d know from that what it is about and who has sent him.”
    Maubeuge. Try as he might, Jonah couldn’t seem to leave that disastrous defeat behind. And neither could his friends, Warrington and Colton. Both were implicated in the scandal with him. They had also been similarly ensnared by the less than Honorable Fortescue Alcock to despoil other virgins who were being courted by the other royal dukes.
    â€œVery well. Thank you, Paulson. I’ll only be a moment,” he said to Serena. Then he gave her a wink and handed the cigar back to her without letting Paulson see it. “Try not to let it go out.”
    ***
    Drat! Just when he was about to tell her what gentlemen really talked about. Did they wax rhapsodic about a lady’s hair or the shape of her figure? Did they admire her fine manners or value her piano playing on a cold winter’s night? Had Jonah ever heard a man talk about a woman’s insights into his favorite author’s work?
    Just what did gentlemen think about the ladies in their lives?
    She’d long ago come to terms with the way of the world. Society decreed that she was unable to support herself. A wellborn lady could dabble in water colors, but not make a business of selling them. She might volunteer for charity work but could not toil for hire. A lady needed the protection of a good man or her life would shortly become untenable. But didn’t the dependency run both ways?
    Don’t they somehow need us as much as we do them?
    And not just for playing hostess or producing an heir.
    She eyed the glowing tip of the cigar, which was growing paler by the minute.
    â€œTry not to let it go out,” Jonah had said.
    As if she couldn’t do such a simple thing. Remembering the way Jonah had drawn on the cigar and then produced a perfect smoke ring, she brought the cigar to her lips and inhaled.
    A coughing fit exploded from her lungs. Her body’s reaction was so violent, she nearly dropped both the cigar and the brandy.
    â€œHow utterly vile!” This was worse than black coffee by several thousand degrees of magnitude.
    Drat. Jonah would think her a weak female, unable to rise to the occasion of a masculine pleasure.
    She put the cigar down, balancing it on the silver tray on his mantel. Its tip glowed at her, malevolent as a single red eye. How could she pretend to enjoy this miserable thing, and for a whole hour, no less?
    The burning tip began to fade again. If she let the dratted thing go out, Jonah would know she hadn’t had the courage to see this adventure through. He’d think her weak. Her father had