Cheryl Holt by Too Tempting to Touch Read Free Book Online

inquire.
    “Yes.”
    “But you can’t leave me like this!”
    “I mean to
leave
you exactly like this, you aggravating strumpet.”
    “Strumpet!”
    “I believe we’ve settled the question—once and for all—as to what sort of female you are deep down.”
    “What are you implying?”
    “You’re no different from any other. You’ll spread your legs as quickly as the next woman, if the right man glances in your direction.”
    “I will not!” she protested, though why she bothered was a mystery. He was absolutely correct: She was a trollop! How humiliating! How humbling!
    “Now that your base character has been established,” he continued, “maybe you’ll think twice before pointing your pious little finger at anybody else.”
    With that, he turned and strolled out. He was calm and composed, providing no hint that he’d just ravaged her beyond redemption. He shut the door with a determined click, abandoning her to mull and stew, and she dawdled on the table and stared up at the ceiling.
    She needed to sit up, to restore her condition and slink away before anyone saw her, but she couldn’t move.
    What had come over her? What had she done and why? With Stanton of all people!
    She groaned with dismay. The man was a sorcerer, which would explain his diabolical appeal, and she clung to the rationalization as if it were a lifeline. The only other alternative was to admit that she’d been smitten and had allowed herself to be seduced, but she was too mortified to acknowledge the truth. She’d go to her grave denying that anything untoward had occurred, denying that she’d been complicit.
    With enormous effort, she slid to her feet, but she was unsteady. She collapsed to the floor and huddled on the rug, her skirt pooled around her. Her deck of cards—the ultimate symbol of her solitary existence—had been scattered during the foray, and a few of them drifted down, falling around her like autumn leaves.
    She picked one up, and it was the Knave of Hearts. The smirking face seemed to mock her for her scandalous conduct. As if it were afire, she pitched it away; then she pulled herself up.
    She had to escape the mansion, had to find a way to notify Rebecca and Lydia that she’d departed. Then she’d race to Stanton’s town house. It wasn’t far, and if she was lucky, she could make the trek without discovery. She would hide and regroup while she figured out how to carry on from this second forward, for without a doubt, she couldn’t ever meet up with Stanton again.
    She went to the hall and peeked out. Espying no one, she scampered away toward the nearest exit and the darkness beyond.

  4  
    “Fetch me some tea,” Lydia Burton barked at the recalcitrant maid, “and be quick about it, or the next person I talk to will be Lord Stanton.”
    With her mention of Cousin Alex, the girl scurried away, and Lydia fumed and calculated how she’d retaliate. She’d had a lifetime of plotting revenge, of exacting it with cruel and malicious glee. She was generally a quiet, unobtrusive individual, so those who crossed her assumed she was harmless, but they discounted her at their peril.
    There was a mirror across the dining parlor, and when she caught a glimpse of her unattractive face, she refused to suffer any regret. She’d been born ugly, with mousy hair, beady eyes, a sharp chin and nose, and at age thirty-five her condition hadn’t improved.
    Her body was peculiar, too, with her shoulders hunched and her hips too big for the rest of her, so that on the bottom she was shaped like a fat pear. On the top she was flat as a board, her breasts having never developed as they ought.
    She couldn’t count how often her father had lamentedover how homely she was. When the insulting oaf had died, she hadn’t grieved a single second, and she was still having the last laugh, spending his money and managing his properties.
    On his deathbed, she’d received particular delight in tormenting him with how she’d squander