London's Last True Scoundrel by Christina Brooke Read Free Book Online Page A

never embarrass her or make her lose her temper. A man with whom she could live a contented life and bear sweet, contented children …
    “More hot water, miss.” Trixie, the lone female servant in the house, lugged a bucket over to the tub and heaved.
    A gush of steaming water poured down Hilary’s back. “Ahh, thank you, Trix.”
    Warmth spread through her limbs. Her toes felt hot needles prick them to life.
    She ducked her head under again.
    “Has Lord Davenport left yet?” she asked the maid, who was busy unpacking Hilary’s meager wardrobe and putting it away.
    “No, Miss Hilary. The master ordered a chamber to be made up for him.”
    Hilary ground her teeth. She ought to have expected that.
    Again, she wondered what on earth had come over her to launch herself at a man she hardly knew. Well, if it killed her, she would be civil to him for the remainder of his stay.
    She would consider it a test of her will and determination. If she could manage not to lose her temper with Lord Davenport, she could accomplish anything London society had to throw at her.
    But no, she was not going to London, was she?
    The mere notion of remaining one more night at the Grange depressed her, but the rest of her life? Anything would be better than living in a house that was falling down around her ears, where orgies took place in broad daylight.
    Remaining under the Grange’s leaky roof after the debacle that afternoon was likely to injure her reputation past redemption. If Mrs. Farrington spread word of the disgraceful scene she’d witnessed in the drawing room …
    Hilary squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to think about it.
    “Ever so handsome, he is,” Trixie was saying as she laid out a clean gown and underthings. She’d been rattling on in her usual way while Hilary was lost in thought.
    “Who?” she asked, knowing full well.
    “Lord Davenport, of course.” Trixie opened her eyes wide. “I wouldn’t mind some o’ that, I can tell you.”
    Hilary forbore to chastise the maid for her ribaldry. It was almost impossible to persuade any female servants to remain in this house, so one had to take what one could get. She suspected Trixie spread her favors equally between Hilary’s brothers and any gentlemen who visited and took her fancy, but there was nothing Hilary could do about that, either.
    Besides, Hilary found herself curious about precisely what “some o’ that” might entail.
    In an airy voice of studied unconcern, she said, “How can you tell? He is covered in bruises. Do you think him handsome?”
    “Aye, as handsome as he can stare. But that arse, miss, begging your pardon. Seldom seen a finer pair o’ buttocks on a gentleman.” Trixie cupped her hands as if to squeeze the body parts in question. “What I wouldn’t give for a feel o’ them beauties.”
    The open look of relish on Trixie’s pretty features caused Hilary to submerge herself again.
    Gracious! She’d noticed almost everything else about Lord Davenport, but his buttocks had been covered by the tails of his evening coat.
    Which made her wonder how Trixie knew what they looked like.…
    No, she would not think about Lord Davenport and his spectacular hindquarters.
    “I wish you would not talk in such a vulgar fashion,” she said belatedly, and quite unreasonably, since she’d encouraged the maid to expand on the subject.
    Living at the academy all her adult life with only brief sojourns home, Hilary was woefully ignorant of what went on between men and women.
    She knew the sorts of advances she was not supposed to encourage. But she wasn’t terribly certain of what it was she was guarding so vigilantly against.
    Oh, she knew the theory and she’d caught glimpses of her brothers’ raucous goings-on here and there. But theory and glimpses didn’t begin to explain anything. And how would she know if she didn’t find out from Trixie? Hilary could hardly ask her brothers, and Miss Tollington would have been no help, even if