Love and Other Scandals by Caroline Linden - Love and Other Scandals Read Free Book Online Page B

why it was so terrible to see a man’s naked chest, even an imaginary, idealized man’s chest, when she would be expected to allow a husband all sorts of liberties with her own, naked person. Her cousin Mariah, married almost two years now, had told her all about a wife’s duty—although in Mariah’s telling it was the most pleasant duty one could imagine, with nothing dreadful about it. Joan was quite sure Mariah saw her husband’s bare chest on a regular basis, and was routinely ravished in every thrilling way. She must be, since she was due to have her first child in a few weeks.
    If Mariah weren’t her dearest cousin and most intimate confidant, Joan would have been wild with jealousy. As it was, the only male chest, flesh or painted, she had seen was Tristan Burke’s. True, she had rather enjoyed it, which lent some weight to her mother’s concern that it was indecently titillating, but it had hardly led to ruin. If anything, it only showed her how dramatically separate a gentleman’s person and his personality were. Lord Burke might have a very intriguing chest, but the rest of him was obnoxious.
    She picked up the magazine again and paged through it to the fashion plates. Gold, he said. What did Lord Boor know about ladies’ fashions? She would never have admitted it aloud, but the thought of a deep gold gown sounded rather appealing. She did like rich colors, even if her mother deemed them inappropriate for an unmarried lady. If she ever managed to get a husband, the first thing she would order would be a gown of pure scarlet, just because she loved red.
    But tomorrow evening, she was going to look elegant in blue. Pale blue, true, but with a very fine fall of lace at the neckline. And her hair—her one truly beautiful feature—would be winsome and charming, just like the young lady in Ackermann’s.
    She almost hoped Lord Boor would be there to gape in awe.

 
    Chapter 5

    I t didn’t take Tristan long to remember why he rarely went to balls.
    First, there was the company. He had nothing against a good crowd, especially if there happened to be a boxing match in the middle of it. What he didn’t enjoy were the stares of women: some sly, some scandalized, some just rabidly curious. Lady Malcolm had gazed at him in amazement when he followed Bennet through her door, and that turned out to be the most polite reaction he got. Every now and then he would meet the eye of a particularly bold female and give her a wicked smile. The young ones blushed, the old ones turned their backs, and the ones in the middle sometimes smiled back. He didn’t care. There was only one female he had come to vanquish tonight, and she was late.
    “It seems a pity to serve your penance when the judge isn’t even here,” he remarked to Bennet, who was leaning morosely against the fireplace mantel at the far end of the room.
    “If I leave, Mother is sure to turn up ten minutes later and flay me for ducking out.” He flagged down a passing footman and took two glasses of wine from the servant’s tray. “Might as well drink at Malcolm’s expense.”
    The second problem with balls, Tristan thought, was the wine. Few hosts served their best wine to the hundreds of guests who came to balls. He sipped from the glass Bennet handed him and sighed. It was either very average burgundy or watered. He didn’t see the point in drinking it at all.
    Bennet had already gulped down most of his. “Can’t imagine what maggot got into my mother’s brain. Why should she want me married already? Oughtn’t she be busy getting Joan wed? Lord knows that would be enough to occupy her for another decade.”
    “Perhaps she’s given it up as hopeless.”
    Bennet downed the remainder of his wine. “Well, it probably is. Joan drives people to distraction.”
    “Indeed,” Tristan muttered. He knew that all too well. He was perilously close to it right now, scanning the room for the dratted woman.
    “Still, it hardly seems right for Mother to