Rexanne Becnel by The Matchmaker-1 Read Free Book Online Page A

library last night. A little cream and gold book,” she added. “Could you fetch it for me?”
    “As you wish. Shall I leave it in your room?”
    “No. Bring it to me in the breakfast room. I’m going down now. Is Mrs. Cummings up?” she added with forced nonchalance.
    “Milady usually sleeps till mid-morning and the men are already departed. I fear, miss, that you are forced to dine alone.”
    “I am sure I shall not mind,” Olivia replied. So long as I truly am alone. She turned for the stairs. Alone was much better than being beleaguered by an amorous drunk.
     
    Neville stared into the small dressing mirror. Three hours of sleep would have to suffice. He normally slept till noon after his long restless nights. But he had business this morning. He had deals to make and horses to sell. Most of all, he had races
to win. For winning horses meant a winning stable, and a plethora of contracts to stud. He would need every shilling of that stud money if he were to maintain Woodford Court as his parents always had.
    Fortunately, the horse stables had always been kept in good repair. But despite six months of extensive repairs, the main house’s elaborate slate roof still leaked in two places. The gutters needed releading too.
    More important than the house, however, the sheep sheds, the shearing barns, and the shearers’ cottages required immediate attention. A win at Doncaster would increase the value of all his horses, which would increase his income and allow him to continue his improvements and thereby keep more of the strapped folks of the Cheviot Hills employed.
    He pulled on a pair of mahogany brown riding boots and grabbed his frock coat and his flat-brimmed hat. Time to move on with his plan. But he paused when he spied the delicate little book lying on the bedside table.
    Miss Olivia B. was quite the enigma. He’d read a number of her entries with amusement. She’d been careful to reveal no names, though with a little investigation he was certain the identities of her numerous male acquaintances could be ferreted out. But more fascinating to him than the entries was the woman who had made them. Such a beautiful enigma.
    She’d been quite thorough in some of her entries. And completely candid. Any woman considering a man’s station in life and his acceptability as a protector would find her notations invaluable, though some of the men might find them insulting. To her credit, she’d not remarked on anyone’s prowess or personal sexual proclivities; a smart move, he conceded.
    Still his jaw clenched rhythmically as an unsavory thought assailed him. Was it possible that auburn-haired beauty, so angelic in demeanor, had partaken of carnal relations with every one of those men?
    On the one hand that possibility should encourage him. For if she were indeed a lady-go-lightly she should be easy enough to entice to his bed. He was not so penurious that he could not afford her services. Nevertheless, Neville felt an edge of
distaste. How had a woman who appeared so innocent and refined become embroiled in such a base profession?
    “That’s easy,” he muttered to himself. He plucked the book up and slid it into his pocket, then turned for the door. How did anyone end up in the situations they found themselves? By accident or bad luck—or God’s merciless humor. He grimaced. It didn’t matter why this Olivia B. had become a harlot. It was enough that she had—and that he was in need of her expertise. He would not have to seek her out, though. For he had her book and she would surely be anxious to recover it. He could afford to wait for her to come to him.
    He patted his pocket, feeling the well-used journal there as he strode down the stairs. First breakfast, then business, then with any luck, tonight he would not spend the dreaded hours after midnight alone.
     
    Olivia muttered an extremely unladylike curse. “He took it, the bounder. He must have.” The maid had intercepted her in the hall with the