One Night of Passion by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online

to begin working on his new reputation as a disreputable bounder, Colin had found the right spot and the best of company.
    Given the notoriety of the ball and the infamous crowd gathered there, few guests caused much of a stir, if any. But when Colin arrived, a groundswell of stunned silence rolled through the room.
    By the time Temple arrived on the steps beside him, all eyes were turned in their direction, a wave of whispers already rising to a dull roar.
    “Court-martialed.”
    “Terribly rich . . . at least before.”
    “Should be hanging in front of the Admiralty.”
    “Bloody coward. Can’t believe he’d show his face.”
    Colin ignored the commentary. Given Lady Diana’s reception, he supposed he couldn’t expect anything less. Most of the men in the crowd, those in uniform especially, gave him the cut direct. The majority of the ladies regarded him with scant interest, his less than rosy financial state more of a concern to their mercenary interests than his social ruin.
    “See,” Temple said, waving at several of the groups of ladies as if they were old friends. Finally, one older lady, far past her first bloom, and probably past her second and third, waved back. “There’s someone who hasn’t heard of your disgrace. Or your lack of funds.”
    “Temple, I don’t think—” Colin turned to leave, but his cousin caught him by the shoulder.
    “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “You promised. One drink. And I mean to see that you keep your word.”
    Colin glanced over the room packed cheek to jowl with lightskirts and Paphians. A table on the far side looked to be serving some sort of brew. “I don’t think the refreshments are why one comes here. Besides, it will take an hour, maybe more, to reach our cups.”
    “You noticed that?” Temple said, lifting his lorgnette to his eyes and gauging the distance for himself. “But you see, that is the beauty of seeking our one drink here. In addition to a cup of the weakest punch in town, on your way to claim it, you may just find a woman who steals your heart at first glance.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” Colin told him. “Remember? I’m the one who wants a wife . A sensible lady of good breeding. Not one of these high-flyers.”
    “If that’s what you wanted, that should have ruled out Lady Diana to begin with,” Temple mused. “Such manners! I always suspected she possessed a shrew’s tongue under all those tight lacings. No one can be that proper.”
    Ignoring his cousin, Colin continued, “When you come into Grandfather’s title, you’ll understand the obligations of family and the need for marriage.”
    Temple regarded him with a mix of skepticism, as if that type of dour responsibility would never rest on his shoulders.
    But Colin knew it all too well—ever since his father had died in a carriage accident the previous year, leaving Colin the barony and all the rights and responsibilities it held.
    And though his younger brother Robert stood to inherit behind him, he was an irresponsible young rapscallion, hardly capable of taking on the Danvers’ estates and obligations. Robert was heading into the army for the sole reason that there wasn’t a school or university left in England that would accept him. He’d shown a fondness for munitions that had blown up portions of the dean’s house at his most recent alma mater, and then there had been the incident at his previous school involving a monument to Oliver Cromwell and a small canon.
    Unfortunately, Colin’s half-brothers Orlando and Raphael, twins from his father’s second marriage, to the daughter of a Spanish grandee, weren’t much better Raphael’s antics had all the earmarkings of rendering Robert’s exploits amateurish. Luckily, Colin had been able to secure the pair a place in a school that was willing to take them on the grounds that neither lad shared Robert’s well-known interest in explosives.
    No, Colin needed a wife, a gentle lady who could help him oversee his