Never Romance a Rake by Liz Carlyle Read Free Book Online Page A

own eyes shut.
    But there was another reason for staying. A reason that cut deeper still. He knew what it was to be thrown to the dogs as if you were no more than a piece of rancid meat. Dear Lord, why must his long-dead scruples resurrect themselves at a time such as this?
    Because Enders was going to take that beautiful girl. Take her to his bed and make her do God only knew what—or with whom—heaven help her. And she was but an innocent. Had Rothewell doubted it, the faint hint of fear he saw in her eyes at that instant when she glanced down at Enders would have convinced him.
    An awful chill ran through him. Oh, Mademoiselle Marchand might be full of fire and spirit tonight, but men like Enders knew just how to beat that out of a woman, and more often than not, they enjoyed the doing of it.
    Enders had finished leering at her arse. That much, at least, was over. Mademoiselle Marchand cut her gaze away from the men and closed her eyes as if steeling herself for something worse.
    Enders touched her lightly on the wrist, his plump lips turning up in a lascivious smile as he leered up at her. “So you need a husband to tame you, my pet?” he whispered in his nasal voice. “I begin to find the notion perfectly delicious.”
    The girl did not open her eyes but drew a deep, steadying breath, her nostrils flaring wide. For an instant, Rothewell thought her knees might buckle. Enders had begun to stroke her wrist over and over with his wide, plump fingertips—a deceptively gentle gesture, given his predilections—and Valigny was doing nothing. And in that moment—that sad, sickening instant of understanding, when he was nothing like himself, but instead a stranger whom he had never met and could not possibly comprehend—Rothewell grasped what was about to happen. What had to happen.
    Well, what the hell difference would it make to him?
    The thought freed him. Almost. Good God, he was no hero. He must be as mad as all of them.
    Enders and Valigny were still watching the girl. Calvert’s face was turned away.
    Across the table, Rothewell caught the footman’s gaze. He set one finger to his lips, then eased his other hand over to fumble beneath the table and felt a moment of triumph. A stiff flap of paper was wedged deep into the crack between the table leaves.
    â€œBy God, I’ll have her!” Lord Enders’s booming voice fractured the strange silence.
    Rothewell jerked back his fingers, and deftly slid Valigny’s card beneath his waistcoat. Only the footman observed him.
    â€œWith an arse like that, she’s worth the twenty-five thousand and the inconvenience,” Enders went on. “Been thinking of taking a wife anyway. Perhaps, Valigny, we can make a deal without another hand?”
    The comte beamed.
    â€œNo,” said Rothewell gruffly, sweeping up the previous hand in one smooth motion round the table. “No, shuffle this, Calvert, and by God, we shall play.”
    Enders narrowed his eyes. “Will we now?”
    â€œYes, why not?” he said.
    â€œBut you’ve swept up the hand.”
    â€œI have money on the table, and I wish to replay it,” Rothewell demanded. “That was Valigny’s proposal.”
    â€œ Mais oui, ” said the comte. “A new hand and a neutral dealer. Come now, Enders. Calvert shall wield the pack.”
    Rothewell cast a glower at his host. “Sit down, then, Valigny, and play this godforsaken game you’ve thought up.” He turned in his seat, and jerked out the adjacent chair. “And for pity’s sake, let us be quick about it.”
    It was indeed quick, mercifully so. Calvert dealt one card down to each of them, then hesitated.
    â€œGo on,” said Rothewell curtly. “We’ve already agree to stake it all.”
    Calvert nodded, and went round again. The gentlemen tipped up the corners of their cards. In that fleeting moment, Rothewell made his move.
    â€œLord