To Tempt A Rogue by Adrienne Basso Read Free Book Online

Kenyon’s face. With his ruddy features and close-set eyes, Nathaniel thought the man resembled an overly large rodent. Planting his palms on the table, Kenyon glared with open hostility at McTate, who was seated to his left.
    Nathaniel knew that many in society thought McTate remote and notorious, for he was a man who showed little deference to their silly rules. Yet Nathaniel knew him to be a man of honor. He had come to town too late to attend Robert and Bernadette’s funeral, but Nathaniel had been touched that his friend had traveled such a distance, at the height of winter, to pay his respects and offer his support.
    If only there were some way he could help solve this current legal dilemma, Nathaniel thought gloomily.
    McTate clasped his shoulder and leaned forward. “I’m ahead four hundred guineas. ’Twould be a shame to leave with my luck running so high, but if you feel the need to depart, I’ll come along.”
    â€œAnd deprive you of a chance to double your winnings?” Nathaniel cocked an eyebrow. “Do I look like a man with no regard for his life?”
    McTate threw back his head and laughed appreciatively. The infectious sound of mirth brought smiles to the faces of the other gentlemen seated around the table. All save one.
    Nathaniel reasoned that Duncan must have surely felt Kenyon’s stare boring into him, but the Scotsman chose to ignore it. Which apparently increased Kenyon’s ire. Nathaniel flashed a warning frown at Kenyon, which the other man foolishly ignored.
    â€œI suppose, to a Scot, cheating can also be considered a form of luck,” Kenyon grumbled softly. “Or skill.”
    In a blur of motion, McTate sprang from his chair. He caught Kenyon by the lapels of his coat and hauled him into the air.
    â€œNow, laddie, would you care to repeat that statement to my face, instead of mumbling under your breath like a coward?”
    Kenyon’s face flushed a deep shade of red as he struggled ineffectively to remove himself from McTate’s clutches.
    Cards slapped the table and chairs scraped the floor as the other four players leapt to their feet. Mr. Kenyon was no great favorite, with his sharp tongue and superior attitude, yet it was a rare treat to see him actually step over the line into real danger.
    â€œI am sure Mr. Kenyon meant no disrespect,” Nathaniel said calmly. He stepped beside his friend and glanced up at Kenyon’s quarrelsome face. “But it would probably be best if you apologized, Kenyon. Immediately.”
    â€œYou must have misheard my remarks,” Mr. Kenyon said stiffly.
    The Scotsman tightened his grip and miraculously lifted his adversary higher. Kenyon’s eyes bulged. “I meant no offense,” he choked out. “Please, forgive my hasty tongue.”
    There were several seconds of taut silence as everyone waited to see if McTate would accept the apology. True gentlemen demanded satisfaction on the dueling field, but an uncivilized Scot might take it into his head to start a common brawl. Though he stood to inherit an English earldom one day, thanks to his noble mother, there was little evidence of his aristocratic bloodlines at this moment.
    Without warning, Duncan suddenly released his hostage. Kenyon stumbled to regain his footing, clutching the table for support. His breath came in panting gasps, as if he had only just realized how narrowly he had avoided great peril. The other players wisely offered no assistance.
    McTate straightened. He scooped the large pile of coins off the table in a fluid motion and stuffed his winnings in his pockets. Then he brushed off an imaginary speck of lint from his dark evening coat and with a final contemptuous glare at the quivering Mr. Kenyon, left the table.
    Searching for the exit, the two friends soon became lost in the maze of unfamiliar rooms. By pure chance, they stumbled upon a small paneled room that resembled a library. The room was done in rich