The Heart of a Scoundrel by Christi Caldwell Read Free Book Online

away.
    “Yes, you should,” Honoria tossed back with an unexpected cruelty in her tone that Phoebe didn’t remember of her friend.
    “Honoria,” she chided. “I lost your shawl and he merely found it and returned it to me.”
    Fire flared in her friend’s eyes.
    She opened her mouth to say something, but Edmund touched his hand to hers, silencing the defense of him on her lips. Gillian stifled a gasp with her fingers.
    “If you’ll excuse me,” he requested and sketched a deep, deferential bow to her and her friends, and then walked briskly off.
    Honoria launched into a stinging rebuke. “What are you doing with one such as him? Do you have any idea who he is?”
    Actually, she’d never before seen a glimpse of the dark, dashing stranger. There had been something menacing there in his eyes, and yet for the momentary flash, there had been warmth, something more that told a tale, and God help her for always longing for the story. “No,” she said. Though that was not altogether true. “Well, now—”
    “The Marquess of Rutland,” Honoria hissed once more.
    “Yes, he said as much.” And he’d said a good deal more. Edmund.
    Gillian widened her eyes to the size of moons. “You exchanged greetings.” She shook her head disapprovingly, sending a golden-white curl falling over her eye. “That is not at all appropriate.”
    Phoebe bristled. At what point had her scheming, oft trouble-seeking friends become this stodgy, judgmental pair? “It was a chance meeting—”
    Honoria jabbed a finger out. “Nothing about the Marquess of Rutland is a matter of chance. He is a heartless scoundrel.”
    She hesitated. Her friend’s words borne of abhorrence spoke of a familiarity. “Do you know him?”
    The too cynical for her years, young woman pursed her lips. “Not per se,” she said with a touch of reluctance.
    Phoebe released a breath.
    At the knowing look given her by Phoebe, she added. “But I know enough of him.”
    “I’ve not seen him at any ton functions this entire Season.”
    “Nor will you,” Gillian said, interrupting before Honoria could reply. “The marquess quite studiously avoids polite events. He is on Mama’s list of gentlemen to avoid.”
    Ah, the infamous, ever growing list of suitors her daughter was not to look at, talk to, dance with, or breathe around. After her eldest daughter’s elopement, she’d attended with far greater care the reputation of her other children.
    “As he should be,” Honoria snapped. She began to pace a small path along the row of peach rose bushes. “There is nothing honorable about him. He is dark, vile, evil, and…” She paused mid-stride and leaned close. “And he is rumored to tie his ladies up.”
    Phoebe furrowed her brow. “Whyever would he tie a lady up?” There really was no end to the limitless, shameful gossip put forth by Polite Society.
    A blush stained Honoria’s cheeks. “Well, for…for reasons that aren’t appropriate.” Her words so whisper soft that Phoebe strained to hear.
    Gillian scratched her forehead. “I daresay I agree with Phoebe. The man might be whispered about, but I don’t think any polite lady would take to being tied up.”
    Honoria’s lips turned downward in a frown. “Regardless of his odd proclivities, he only enters Society when there is some poor person he’d destroy. The scandal sheets say he takes pleasure in destroying anyone and everything.” At that impassioned speech by her friend, Phoebe scoffed. Honoria made Edmund out to be an utterly horrid beast, and yet the man who’d waited patiently above while she searched for the lost shawl, and then tried to beat a hasty retreat, surely was incapable of deception. “We do not read the scandal sheets,” she politely reminded her only pairing of friends. Nor had Honoria been one to possess a fanciful imagination.
    Honoria tossed her hands up. “Your fancifulness will mean your ruin.”
    There was an almost prophetic quality to that pledge that caused a