Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four) by Maureen Driscoll Read Free Book Online

the Countess
of Crenshaw is bringing you to heel.”
    Hal bristled at the very suggestion.  “I just think
there might be more to life than spending our evenings at brothels and hells.”
    “Perhaps,” said Francis, as he contemplated his
drink.  “Although I’m not sure you could find success among the ton as
you used to.  You reputation isn’t what it was.”
    “I’ll do just fine,” said Hal, finishing his drink
and tiring of the conversation. 
    “Care to make a wager?” asked Francis.
    “Only if you’re prepared to lose your blunt.  You do
it so well.  It’s a most admirable trait in a friend.”
    Francis finished his drink then waved lazily at a
footman for another.  “Ah, but this time I shall not lose.  I am so sure that
you have lost enough of your vaunted charm that you will be unable to seduce
the chit of my choice.”
    “And here I thought you were going to propose
something difficult,” said Hal lazily.  “But I have no interest in playing with
others to amuse you.  Whenever I engage in a liaison it is because the female
in question is interested in either me or my blunt.  Often both.  I still have
enough of a conscience not to seduce a woman for any other purpose.  Sorry, old
chap, but you’ll have to find another taker for your bet.”
    Francis studied Hal for a moment as he took another
brandy from the footman.  “What if you only had to steal a kiss?”
    “Then you might as well hand over the blunt right
now.”
    “You may talk a good game, but it’s quite another
thing to actually go through with it.”  Francis hid a smile at Hal’s answering
glare.  “Just one kiss from the chit of my choice and you don’t even have to do
it in public.  Although I will require some proof.”
     “You wouldn’t take my word for it?”
    “I’m afraid not.”  Francis gave him a mock look of
contrition.
    “I don’t kiss innocents.  Or at least I don’t when
I’m not in my cups,” Hal amended, thinking once again of that kiss the previous
evening.  How he wished he knew who it had been.  He was almost positive it hadn’t
been Lady Lawson.  But who was she and how had he come to be kissing her?  More
importantly, how could he find her and kiss her again?
    Francis expounded on the infernal wager.  “I promise
not to choose anyone with a matchmaking mama in tow.  The last thing I want is for
you to become leg-shackled – Lynwood is enough of a shrew.  And before you
berate me, I take it back.  I won’t say another thing about your beloved saint
of a brother.  Now, since we’re already here, shall we make it official?  Let’s
enter this in the book.”
    Without another word, Francis went to White’s famous
book of wagers, which recorded dares great and small – and all of them
ludicrous.  When their destination became known, several members of the club
accompanied them, all wanting to know the wager and the stakes.
    Per usual, Francis couldn’t resist playing to the
crowd.  He stated the terms in a big booming voice. “I hereby challenge Lord
Henry Kellington, better known as Hal, the heir’s spare’s heir’s spare – that’s
number three after Lynwood for those of you bastards too drunk to count – that
he cannot kiss a woman of my choosing.  And the stakes are one hundred pounds.”
    Both the wager and the stakes provoked a reaction
from the crowd.  Side bets were placed and those who’d seen the wager written
into the book quickly ran to tell others who’d been lamentably absent.  As Hal
watched the flurry of activity, he regretted agreeing to the ridiculous wager,
although he could certainly use the hundred pounds.
    “Who’s the woman?” asked a young man with shirt
points past his ears.
    “Miss Melanie Sutton,” said Francis.
    Most men – including Hal – regarded the
pronouncement with blank stares, while a few others who’d presumably met the
woman hooted.
    “Who the devil is Melanie Sutton?” asked Hal, pulling
Francis aside.