Touch of Rogue by Mia Marlowe Read Free Book Online Page B

private activities.”
    “Theatre people live for bizarre ritual,” she quipped.
    “Not like this. At least I doubt it. These sorts of groups usually have a ... primitively sensual component. You’ll have heard of the Hell Fire Club, I expect.”
    Lily Parks, who served as a prop mistress for Drury Lane Theatre, told her once about attending a meeting of the Hell Fire Club back when Lily was still young enough to “trod the boards.” Lords and their ladies, members of Parliament, and judges used the Hell Fire Club as an excuse to throw off convention and commit acts of lewd and flagrant immorality. Surely the person who’d sent Algernon such dry, intellectual letters wouldn’t be involved in that sort of thing.
    “The Hell Fire Club is no longer in existence,” she said.
    “No, but the spirit of the club lives on, and I suspect it has found a new incarnation in some faction of the Druid Order. I’d bet my best shirt on it.” His gaze sizzled over her in unspoken lust. “If we commit to this course, once we’re in with these people, we won’t be allowed to bow out gracefully. You have your title and wealth. Be sure you want to risk your reputation for the sake of this search before we proceed.”
    Julianne swallowed hard. She’d always have the title of dowager countess. Her stepson had no control over that, but now that her mourning period was all but finished, he could wreck havoc with her finances and personal freedoms. Unless she produced all six daggers for her mysterious buyer by mid-December, her choices would dwindle considerably. A title wouldn’t buy bread, wouldn’t clothe her and put a roof over her head, or keep her promises to the ones who were depending on her.
    The fact that she could claim a “milady” wouldn’t help Mrs. Osgood and the foundlings under her care one bit. Julianne knew what it was to live hand to mouth. She couldn’t bear to see the school for orphaned girls she’d founded crumble and its residents thrust back onto the unkind streets of London.
    Her stepson was committed to beggaring her if she didn’t marry some horrid little backwater baron who was a friend of his from his days at Eton. So she considered her remaining options with a practical dispassionate eye.
    Julianne loved the theatre, but she couldn’t go back to that vagabond life. Besides, her years of playing a convincing in-génue were dwindling fast. She’d seen plenty of leading ladies end their days sewing costumes for others in nearsighted poverty. She wouldn’t settle for that.
    She had the education and style to be a top-tier courtesan, but if she wouldn’t surrender to a loveless marriage, she’d also be no man’s plaything, something to be used and cast away on a whim. She’d be her own mistress.
    Reuniting the daggers was the only way to bring about that happy state. Her anonymous buyer was prepared to part with a king’s ransom for them. But, once she reached London, another note in the same handwriting had been left for her at the Golden Cockerel with terse instructions that if she missed the deadline, all deals were off.
    This was her only chance. She’d endure whatever she must for a season in order to live as she wished for the rest of her life.
    “My mind is made up,” she said. “We proceed as planned.”
    “As you will,” he said with a nod of grudging respect. “Now I suggest you repair to the parlor.” His smile turned wicked. “Unless of course, you’d like to help me dress. We could practice for our sojourn among the pagans.”
    She hurried out of the chamber, his masculine laughter chasing her all the way down the stairs.

C HAPTER 4
     
    “T he countess come to town by coach, just like ye said she would.” The ragged boy swiped his nose on his sleeve and continued with his tale. “Then she settles into the Golden Cockerel, y’know the one, that fancy new inn hard by Victoria Station. After that, she visits a few shops for gewgaws and such and—”
    “You related