Wedding Night Revenge by MARY BRENDAN Read Free Book Online

cool and content, chatting to her friend in her landau, he'd wanted to upset her equilibrium. Yet, strangely, when she'd been hemmed in on all sides by belligerent men, he'd been only a moment or two entertained by her predicament before he'd found himself stepping in to help. And why he'd made that stupid remark on taking his leave, he'd no idea. Simply to unsettle her, he supposed.
    And now he had the urge to do it again. He wanted to strip her of hauteur and deliberately make her hurt the way she had deliberately hurt him. He wanted to be her nemesis. And that was curious. Six years ago he'd congratulated himself—others had, too—on coping admirably with the loss and humiliation of being jilted. Then he'd forgotten her. He'd fought a war, made enemies, made friends, made money—he'd even made love once or twice in amongst the numerous couplings he'd enjoyed. Now, because his lost fiancee looked beautiful and unmarked by any of it, he was consciously acknowledging his need for revenge.
    He dropped his eyes from her, quelling a twinge of self-disgust, and indicated to his brother they should move. Making polite responses to the many greetings received en route, he allowed Jason to steer him slowly through the people thronging the Pembertons' hallway. Eventually they'd picked a path to a dual stairway that marched in symmetrical twisting sweeps to the reception rooms above. Through the din of a hundred conversations, Connor could detect instruments being tuned in readiness for tonight's concert. As he mounted the first step, the discordant medley became more distinct because the cacophony in the hallway no longer buffered the sound. Instinctively he knew the lull in conversations was significant to him and he glanced up.
    His mistress was gliding down the stairs towards him in a pure white gown dotted here and there with scarlet rosebuds. It had been artfully designed to display an alluring decolletage while the gossamer folds of the skirt hinted at the exotic skin beneath.
    Some considerate soul had thought to open every door and window the house possessed to try and expel the heavy heat that refused to disperse at dusk. A welcome, tepid breeze had been flickering the candle flames and cooling the brows of stuffily attired gentlemen. Now it reversed its effect: a sudden gusting draught got beneath the gauze of Maria's skirt and made it billow as high as her shapely nude knees. Countless cravats were suddenly being loosened from inflamed throats and a collective male sigh whispered about the vestibule. Some ladies, recognising the signs and girding their loins for a little amatory skirmish later, cursed the dratted woman.
    Connor just caught Maria's low, amused chuckle, but she adopted a bashful mien whilst restraining the fine material taut across her lissom thighs.
    In absolute silence she continued her descent to- • wards him while he watched her from beneath lazy lids. Idly he wondered whether he'd be the one paying handsomely for the indecent scrap giving pleasure to so many.
    His secretary had presented him with a stack of bills for his perusal that morning. A good amount seemed to be from milliners or modistes who claimed to have turned out yards of lady's finery in his name.
    Maria's sultry gaze was roving his face and she smiled an intimate, exclusive welcome before her sloe eyes condescended to drop to the waiting, watching assembly. Her small chin tilted proudly, sending a ripple of thick black ringlets over her bare shoulders.
    Rachel, in common with everyone else, was viewing the explicitly sensual display with an absorbed fascination. The atmosphere seemed to crackle with a shocking excitement. She found it impossible to look away, as Maria Laviola triumphantly joined the Earl of Devane on the wide, wine-red step.
    The signora then melted so close to him it seemed his broad, black- jacketed torso was emerging from a tousled white sheet. A small hand was slipped possessively through his arm before Maria