The Wickedest Lord Alive by Christina Brooke Read Free Book Online Page A

quirk to his mouth.
    “I wish you wouldn’t call me that.” Clare turned the full force of her most melting expression upon her faithful admirer. “Do I look like a brat to you, Mr. Perkins?”
    The young gentleman flushed pink. “N-no, indeed. Anything less like a brat than the divine Miss Beauchamp would be difficult to imagine.”
    Tom glanced down on Mr. Perkins from his superior height and said, “That’s because you don’t know her very well.”
    Clare ignored Tom’s interjection, exclaiming instead, “Tom, that reminds me. I want you to sign your name to my petition before I take it to Mr. Huntley tomorrow.”
    “Dear God,” muttered Tom. “Can’t you leave the poor fellow alone, you little hornet? All he wants is a quiet life.”
    “Then he ought to step down at the next election and let someone else run.” She eyed him speculatively.
    “No,” said Tom. “Absolutely not.”
    She frowned. “You didn’t even hear what I was going to say.”
    “I know what you were going to say because you’ve said it a hundred times. And I repeat: I will not stand for election in Huntley’s stead. Even if I did, I would not be your puppet, Clare. Now, be a good girl and run along. I want to talk to Lizzie.”
    Clare went with something of a flounce.
    Throughout this exchange, Lizzie had been scanning the crowd, watching for Steyne. Her nerves hummed with tension. She barely heard a word Tom spoke to her until he put a hand over hers. “My dear Lizzie. Is something wrong?”
    “Wrong? No, of course not.” She collected herself as best she could, withdrawing her hand from his. “I apologize if I seem distracted. I am concerned that the ball should run smoothly, that’s all. My mind always picks over a hundred little details.”
    “These assemblies always run smoothly,” said Tom, a twinkle lurking in his dark eyes. “With Miss Allbright at the helm, would the evening dare go awry?”
    She pulled a face. “You make me sound disagreeably managing.” She only wished that were the truth. Then she might manage her way out of this mess.
    “No, not managing,” he said. “Clever and competent, rather.” He tilted his head. “Are you feeling quite the thing, old girl?”
    She pressed her fingertips to her temple. “Sorry, Tom. I—I have the headache.”
    “Then you must sit while I fetch you lemonade,” he said, making as if to lead her to a chair.
    No, she couldn’t be seen sitting out dances. It would give the lie to her carefully supported alibi.
    “Indeed, I am well.” She offered him a determined smile. “Or I will be in a trice. Ah, and here is Mr. Taylor to claim the first set.”
    Lizzie loved to dance, but tonight the amusement failed to take her mind from her troubles. Steyne and Lydgate hadn’t arrived yet, but excited anticipation hummed in the air. The young ladies glowed with pink cheeks and sparkling eyes, preening and laughing in an almost determined way. All seemed eager to appear to best advantage should the honored guests choose that moment to walk in.
    Dowagers and matrons sat around the edges of the room, gossiping behind their fans. Little Thurston might be a quiet village, but that did not mean residents were without town connections to send them news and scandal. Every likely source was mined for gossip.
    By the time Steyne and Lydgate strolled into the room, the company knew everything about them, including what they’d eaten for dinner.
    The gentlemen paused on the threshold. The crowd hushed. Some of the dancers lost a step. Lizzie lifted her chin and grimly danced on.
    The Westruther cousins were impossible to ignore. It had been difficult to imagine how the two Westruther men could appear more magnificent than they’d seemed in breeches and riding boots that afternoon. Yet in formal attire, they surpassed even themselves.
    Their tailoring was as exquisite as it was unobtrusive. Both gentlemen wore black coats and white waistcoats and dove gray pantaloons. Lydgate sported