Too Dangerous to Desire by Cara Elliott Read Free Book Online Page A

back entrance.
    “Well, well, well, we were wondering if you would turn up.”
    Cameron froze for an instant on hearing the Earl of Killingworth’s low rumble, then casually tossed his hat on the sideboard. “What are you doing back in Town, Connor?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that you are bored with life as a goat farmer. With a partner like Lady K, I’d have thought that pastoral pleasures would not lose their allure.”
    His friend—who was the former owner of the Lair—let out a bark of laughter. “Indeed not. I am quite content with my wife and my wool on the hoof, but one must occasionally attend to business in the city.”
    “Lady K’s weaving business is going great guns,” piped up a second voice from the shadows. A spark of flint and steel lit the lamp on the curio cabinet, illuminating the Marquess of Haddan’s face.
    Connor and Gryff? Hell and damnation. Cameron gave an inward wince. He was in no mood for meeting the two other Hellhounds. They, of all people, were the ones most likely to sense his fragile state of mind.
    And they, of all people, were the ones he did not wish to see him so stripped of his defenses. So vulnerable.
    “The ton is snapping up their woven Kashmir shawls faster than she and Connor can produce them,” went on Gryff. Alexa Hendrie, a very clever young lady, had proved to be the perfect mate for the Irish Wolfhound, and together they were thriving in both love and business. “So he needs to purchase more looms.” A cough. “As well as a few sundries to update the nursery at Linsley Close.”
    “Congratulations, Connor,” muttered Cameron, pouring himself a large brandy. “And what, pray tell, brings you to Town?” he snapped at Gryff. “Last thing I heard, you were happily digging in the dirt of your country estate.” Gryff was an expert on landscape design, and had just begun putting theory into practice at his ancestral estate.
    “The gardens are blooming beautifully,” said Gryff with a satisfied smile. He, too, had recently taken a bride. “However, our publisher needed me to check over a few last minute corrections on my essays before the book goes to press.” His new wife Eliza was a remarkably talented botanical artist and together they had created a beautiful compendium on the classic estate gardens of England.
    That married life appeared to agree so well with his friends only exacerbated Cameron’s ugly mood. Raising his glass, he allowed a faint sneer to curl on his mouth. “Here’s to hoping that my dear comrades-in-hellraising don’t turn into total stick-in-the-muds.”
    Arching a brow, Connor glanced at Gryff. “Is it my imagination, or does it seem to you that the Sleuth Hound has a thorn stuck in his paw?”
    “I’d say it’s lodged in a different portion of his anatomy,” drawled Gryff. The lamplight played over his impish grin. “What’s the trouble, Cam? Don’t tell us your nose for trouble has landed you in the briars.”
    “Arse—both of you,” he growled into his brandy. “Where the devil is Sara? I came here seeking entertaining conversation, and what do I find? That my fellow Hellhounds have become woefully domesticated. Weaving shawls, writing garden books…” He gave a mock shudder. “Good God, I suppose the next time I see you, you’ll be wearing skirts.”
    The swish of ruched satin filled the sudden silence as Sara swept into the room. “What’s all the barking about?” she asked, frowning at Cameron. “Ain’t ye glad te see yer old friends?”
    He responded with a very indelicate word.
    “He’s in a snarly mood,” murmured Gryff. “Haven’t a clue why.”
    Connor, whose temper was easily triggered, looked up, a quicksilver spark in his gray eyes. “Neither do I, but if he insults my manhood—or my wife—again, he’ll be fishing his teeth out of his gullet.”
    “Come to think of it, he’s been acting awfully odd ever since that veiled lady came here seeking an audience with Lord Dudley.”
    Much