Seductive Wager by Leigh Greenwood Read Free Book Online

weigh down her spirits. Maybe we’ll even get snowbound. At least that would give her more time to figure out what to do with herself. She had no idea how to go about seeking a position. She didn’t even know what kind of work she might do. Her mother had never taken the time to teach her how to manage a household, and her father thought it a waste of time to educate a girl. She would be lucky to be offered a position in a poor household, but even that would be preferable to becoming a ladies’ maid.
    The notion made her laugh. She had no idea what a ladies’ maid did, at least not much of one. Her mother had spent her time in London, and Kate had never had a maid. She would probably be reduced to being a companion to some horrible old woman or scrubbing pots and pans in the kitchen.
    Kate had some idea of what happened to unprotected girls, especially the pretty ones, and for a moment she wished herself safely back at Ryehill, but Martin’s features swam before her eyes and any regrets over her hasty departure died. Becoming some man’s mistress would be truly horrible, but if she were lucky she might be able to lay something aside for her future.
    Her future! The only acceptable future for a girl like her was to marry a substantial gentleman, bear his children, and manage his household. Martin had seen to it she had no dowry, had met few eligible men, and now bore a dishonored name. No man in his right mind would marry her; not even her beauty could compensate for such grave shortcomings.
    She fought against the tears welling up in her eyes, determined not to cry, certainly not in front of this brusque man who was so uninterested in her destiny that he had fallen asleep, but that only caused the tears to well up even faster until large drops streamed down her face like spring rain down a windowpane. She made no attempt to wipe them away, just closed her eyes and let them fall.
    Brett changed his position, and for a moment Kate held her breath, unable to stop crying, but after a brief pause, she could hear his steady breathing once more. She was furious at herself for feeling embarrassed about crying in front of him and called herself some harsh names as she searched for a handkerchief. Brett would have one, she thought, but she would let the tearstains dry on her cheeks before she would ask him, even if he had been awake.
    She finally found the lace-trimmed square and began to dab at her face. Why did women have to cry anyway? It never solved anything; it just made them look ridiculous and invariably made men angry. Why couldn’t she curse and challenge people to fistfights and foolish duels? She was tired of being bound by an outmoded code of behavior.
    She tidied her face and gave herself a mental shake. Feeling sorry for herself was not going to produce any answers. She knew she would have to discuss her plans with the sleeping hulk across from her, but she intended to have her thoughts in order before she did. She might as well be done with crying and start to rack her brain for ideas; it was obvious Brett wasn’t going to do it for her.
    She sniffed her annoyance. Brett Westbrook, the pride of English society, the darling of drawing rooms from London to Paris, lay slumped down in the corner of his coach looking very much like an ordinary man. Famed for his intrigues with titled women and feared for the haughty correctness of his polished manner, he now was sprawled over the seat, his face unshaved, his clothes rumpled, and his hair in disarray. She felt like laughing. He might be the most handsome man in the world—she had to admit she couldn’t suppress a thrill of excitement at being with him—but she wasn’t going to fall for a man who had already seduced half the women in London.
    But immediately her attitude toward him softened. He had come to her rescue. She had been so shocked and upset when Martin dragged her into that room she hadn’t felt the delicious tingle of pleasure she later experienced when