Have You Any Rogues? by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online Page B

consequence would have accepted the invitation to Bletcher House, the earl’s country seat, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Lady Bletcher’s money had enabled the infamous newlyweds to bring Menghini to entertain at their house party.
    So treasured was Menghini’s voice that he refused to sing to the usual large audiences of the grand playhouses and insisted on performing only for small, select parties.
    And even then, only those who could afford his exorbitant demands.
    Hen would have gone and stayed with that aged harridan Damaris Dale to have had this opportunity to hear the infamous Italian sing.
    “It isn’t Signor Menghini—”
    “No, no, the fellow is all well and good. Proud sort, rather fussy. When I went by the dining room he was explaining to Lady Bletcher that he must have the most bland of meals to keep his throat in balance.” Michaels snorted, as if that was the most amusing notion he’d ever heard.
    Hen would have pointed out that Signor Menghini’s very purse depended on that throat, so perhaps the man’s demands were rather important to him.
    “So if it isn’t Signor Menghini, then what has dinner in such a state of disarray?” she asked.
    “Someone has finally explained precedence to Lady Bletcher.” He shook his head woefully.
    “About time,” Hen said without thinking.
    Michaels laughed. “Yes, that may be so, but it also means you and I are now separated and you have a new dining companion—other than Lord Bletcher.” He waggled his brows at this, for it had been the baron who’d guessed rather astutely as to why Hen had been invited—Lord Bletcher thought she might make an excellent fourth Lady Bletcher in the event this one turned up her toes as quickly as the other Lady Bletchers had done.
    While the baron continued to smirk, Hen ran through the list of guests and tried to determine who might be beside her.
    “I’ll give you a hint,” Michaels offered. “Some viscount has usurped my spot—demmed cheeky fellow. Just arrived. Distant cousin of some sort of Lord Bletcher’s, but I think it’s the flimsiest of connections, and one made only to hear that Italian sing.”
    Hen smiled. She had been about to do the same thing—stretch the branches of her family tree before her invitation had arrived.
    “He’s a pompous fellow,” Michaels was saying over his shoulder from where he’d stopped to examine the small collection of books on one wall. “But everyone is making such a fuss over him all because he managed to escape the demmed Frenchies.”
    Henrietta’s world stopped. “ Escaped ?” Her insides quaked at the very word, and she drew her shawl tightly around her shoulders.
    No, it couldn’t be. Still, why couldn’t she breathe? Why was the floor suddenly spinning?
    “Yes,” Michaels said, pulling a book off the shelf, completely unaware of her turmoil. “Got caught in Paris when the Peace failed in ’03. Been locked away ever since. Foolish of him being over there to begin with. Never saw any reason to cross the Channel. Nothing but foreigners over there.”
    Henrietta shook her head. Not so much at Michaels’s own pomposity but at the growing blaze of hope that had ignited in her heart.
    Escaped.
    What if it was him?
    She glanced away and indulged in a familiar remembrance—his lips upon hers. The very scent of him. This wasn’t the first time she’d drifted back to that night, yet now she wondered if her memories, after all this time, were more fanciful than truly real.
    Could a kiss have been so . . . so . . . unforgettable?
    Hen drew in a deep breath. And here she’d vowed, promised herself, to forget him. She’d had to. When it had appeared that all hope had been lost, she’d had no choice but to bow to her family’s expectations and marry Astbury.
    Astbury . . . Henrietta flinched a little at his memory. While she’d been overly fond of the marquess, it hadn’t been a marriage based on love for either of them.
    And his kisses?
    Oh,