Lord of Deceit (Heiress Games Book 2) by Sara Ramsey Read Free Book Online Page A

her, and she didn’t ask him to. She knew how important his career was to him.
    She also knew that her welfare was entirely tied up in his.
    He took the seat she offered him, but he shook his head as he did so. “The legislation can wait, my dear. There is something else we need to discuss.”
    “Would you care for brandy?” she asked, still composed — still unaware. “I can fetch you a glass.”
    “No,” he said.
    There was something about that voice that, for a single moment, transported her back to her modiste’s shop on the day Julian and Chapman dueled. Back to that feeling that the whole room knew something that she did not — that her life had hung on a precipice, and she had been too blind to see it until she was already falling.
    She sucked in a breath, but calmed her breathing after that. She was older now. She wouldn’t panic. She looked at him. Really looked at him, as she hadn’t done in ages.
    His sandy hair and hazel eyes, his slim build and pleasing height, and his perfectly cut evening suit were nearly as familiar to her as her own reflection. But the worried air he’d had for weeks had intensified. She suddenly realized that it might not be about his legislation — but about her.
    “What is it?” she asked, her voice sounding harsher than she meant for it to.
    “I think it is time for you to find a new arrangement.”
    She felt as dazed as if she really had fallen off a precipice — as though she’d hit the ground, hard. “What?”
    He looked more sympathetic than the women had in that shop so many years ago. But it didn’t change the resolve in his voice. “You’ve seen the caricatures, Ava. The gossip has been building for weeks. Castlereagh even told me he could maneuver my legislation more easily if I had a wife instead of a mistress — and the leader of the Commons has not been one to help me before. I cannot ignore his offer.”
    Octavia had seen the caricatures. She’d dismissed all of them. It was easier to dismiss them now — she’d seen enough of them over the years. And at least the last round had been somewhat flattering to her. Personally, she would far rather be vilified for being the power behind Somerville’s throne than for her apparent lack of sexual morals.
    But Somerville probably didn’t appreciate the distinction.
    Perhaps she should have guessed his plans. He’d been murmuring about that year’s crop of girls on the marriage mart more than usual. He’d been to Almack’s at least three times this season — invited by Castlereagh’s wife, who was one of the patronesses — which was three times more than he’d gone the previous year. He’d gone without Octavia, of course. She wasn’t fit to be introduced to newly debuted girls.
    She had known that Somerville would have to marry eventually, whether he wanted the girl or not. But….
    She couldn’t stay silent. Not with him. “Are you really turning me out?” she demanded. “And do you really want to marry?”
    “I don’t want to marry,” he said, ignoring her more important first question in favor of the easier-to-answer second. “You know that. I would happily let my nephew inherit the title. But if I’m to save England from sin and iniquity, I must pass this legislation. And it will be easier to do that if I have a wife, not a mistress.”
    It was her turn to snort. “You do not give a bloody damn for sin and iniquity,” she said. “You want to be the prime minister.”
    “Your language is deplorable,” he said, although he smiled as he did so.
    “I learned it from your friends,” she retorted, not mollified by his attempt at humor. “And anyway, we both know that this campaign you’re waging against vice is meant to get you votes, not to save anyone. Does it really matter so much if you have a mistress?”
    Somerville wasn’t quite as mercenary as she made him sound. He really did care about things like gambling, and cheap gin, and the proper care of fatherless bastards whom the