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

chill to race down Phoebe’s spine. She tipped her chin up. “I understand we have reason to be cautious where gentlemen are concerned.” She looked at Gillian first, until the young woman shifted on her feet, and then turned her attention to the other young lady. Honoria, however, in her unflinching opinion, remained proudly fixed to her spot. “However, I still say I far prefer a world where you are cautious and yet still trust in the goodness of man.” Because to believe the alternative…that there was no trustworthy, honorable figure, would make for a very dark world, with little reason for hope in the sentiments of love she and her friends and so many other young ladies secretly aspired to.
    Honoria gave her head a pitying shake. “Then you’re a fool,” she said, wringing a shocked gasp from Gillian.
    Phoebe ignored the other young woman’s scandalized expression and gave Honoria a sad smile. “Perhaps, but I’d rather be a fool than a cynic who doesn’t see the goodness in people.”
    “He is not a man, he is a monster,” Honoria insisted, unrelenting.
    Phoebe squared her jaw. “Lord Rutland has given me no reason to believe he is a monster.”
    “He makes a scandal of himself with widows and wicked ladies,” her friend said on a loud whisper, and then she looked about as though fearing they’d been discovered.
    Phoebe’s lips tingled in remembrance of that hot, fleeting kiss. Honoria flicked her on the arm. “Ouch.” She winced.
    “Get that look out of your eyes, Phoebe Barrett, this instant.”
    “Can we not return?” Gillian pleaded.
    For once, the voice of reason to their troublesome trio, Honoria and Phoebe ended the debate on the Marquess of Rutland’s humanity. Folding her fingers over the small peach rose in her hand, she trailed along at a slower pace behind her more cynical, world-wary friends, wondering about the Marquess of Rutland…

Chapter 4
    C old. Calculated. Rational. Methodical. Those were but a handful of words loudly whispered of Edmund, the Marquess of Rutland. He frequently heard them uttered by scandalized mamas and sighing, lonely wives. He’d always relished the image he’d crafted as a coldhearted bastard. His was no mere image, however. Edmund truly was a coldhearted bastard and that was the more generous of insults hurled at him.
    The following evening, seated at his private table at Forbidden Pleasures, he sipped his brandy and reflected on his chance meeting with Miss Phoebe Barrett. His first opinion of the lady had proven erroneous. With her generous décolletage and auburn tresses and lips made for the devil’s delight, she belonged in a man’s bed—his bed. He swirled the contents of his glass. There had been a shimmer in her blue eyes that had spoken to the lady’s interest.
    He frowned into the contents of his glass as he shifted his thoughts to the woman who’d been the central figure of his scheme in his quest for revenge against Margaret. In Miss Honoria Fairfax’s eyes, there had been little hint of the warmth and intrigue from her too-trusting friend. Instead, there had been guardedness and a cynicism he’d not expected in one who’d only just made her Come Out one, nay two, years ago.
    He’d been impatient and rash. Two words that were not often ascribed to him. In his youth, perhaps. Back when he’d foolishly imagined he had a heart and believed that heart belonged to just one woman. Edmund thrust aside remembrances of Margaret and instead focused his energy upon his plans for Miss Fairfax—plans that, considering the go-to-hell look in her eyes, would not make his efforts of ruining and ultimately forcing her into marriage as easy as he’d expected.
    Edmund took another swallow of his brandy. The lady’s friend, on the other hand, Miss Barrett, with her breathless sighs and moon-eyed looks had demonstrated a physical awareness of him that was more conducive with his plans of revenge. He smelled lust and the lady had desired him.