Tempted By the Night by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online Page A

Museum? Gads, that Miss Wilmont is a remarkable woman to have led Trent so far astray. Who’d have ever thought—” His words ended, and she swore the earl glanced toward Mayfair, toward Berkeley Square, where her brother would eventually bring his bride home.
    A niggle of jealousy ran down her spine. So the earl had held a tendré for Charlotte!
    Still might… a little voice whispered in her ear. And without her ever wearing a hint of capucine.
    Hermione shored up her shoulders. It was that blue opera dress she’d convinced Charlotte to buy. Well, first thing tomorrow she was going to Madame Claudius’s shop and engage her to make another gown just like Charlotte’s.
    And then she’d wear it to Lady Hogshaw’s soiree, and the earl would be unable to…
    She stumbled forward as the ring once againnudged her. “Yes, yes,” she complained, realizing her dreams of new dresses were for naught as long as she remained invisible. So there was nothing for her to do but continue to follow the earl until she could put an end to this wish. Simply discover his secret haunts, then she’d be back to her old self. That sounded sensible enough. But when she glanced up, she found Rockhurst leaping up into the driver’s seat of his curricle.
    Tossing a coin to his man, Tunstall, he said, “Catch a hackney back home, then seek your bed. I don’t think I’ll be home before first light.” Then he whistled to Rowan, who trotted a few steps back, then turned and loped back toward the carriage, jumping into his place beside his master.
    Hermione glanced over her shoulder toward the door to Almack’s. She had promised Quince quite faithfully that she would wait for her in the alcove, but how could she when she had this opportunity?
    With the ribbons in his hands, Rockhurst whistled to his horses, and the animals’ ears flicked and turned at the sound, their hooves dancing.
    And like a child called by the sound of a pipe, Hermione moved as well, dashing across the pavement and onto the back of the carriage, the spot usually reserved for the tiger.
    Luckily for her, the street wasn’t well paved, so when she bounced onto the back, jolting the carriage, the only one to give any note was Rowan, who barked and growled.
    Rockhurst shot a glance over his shoulder, and seeingnothing, gave the dog another scratch. “Settle in, you foolish hound. There’s nothing back there. Save yourself for the real fight ahead.”
    Fight? Whatever could that mean ? Hermione wondered, as she scrambled into place. Oh, he must be jesting. Or so she thought. That is, until they left the more civilized part of London behind, at least the London she knew, and very quickly descended into the very depths of hell.
     
    The house on the dark street was only discernable from the other dreary shops and doorways by the grand peacock painted on the double portals.
    When Rockhurst had pulled the curricle to a stop before it, Hermione’s heart sank. For secretly she had wished, dreamed really, that Rockhurst’s nightly ramblings had some grand raison d’être— he was gambling to save orphans, or to rescue a distant, yet noble cousin from a French prison.
    But whatever he was doing here had nothing to do with anything grand, she surmised as he got down, not that she could see. Shadowy people made their way along the dark street, creeping along, giving the earl and his carriage a wide berth, as if he were the one to be feared.
    Yet there he stood, casually leaning against the side of his curricle. He struck a match to the heel of his boot and lit a cheroot, paying no heed to anything other than the bright glow of the burning tobacco.
    Above them, soft light spilled from the various windows, while laughter, a kind she’d never heard before—rough and rowdy—echoed out. Some of it masculine, and some, decidedly female.
    Hermione had to guess this was just the sort of place she’d heard Sebastian chastising Griffin for frequenting. At least she thought it was—one