When Marrying a Scoundrel by Kathryn Smith Read Free Book Online

thankful that he didn’t have to go looking for a hack at this time of night, in his current state. He’d be an easy target for any footpad.
    Slumping against the squabs, he stared out the window as the carriage rolled away from the curb and the little house of pleasure. Kathleen had told him to come back whenever he wanted, no matter the reason. If he wanted a lover or just someone to talk to, she would make herself available for him. It had been sweet of her to offer.
    But there was no way in hell he was ever going to face her again.
     
    The inside of his mouth tasted like arse.
    Daylight battered Jack’s eyelids, blessedly muted by sopping clouds, gray sky, and a thick curtain of rain. Unfortunately, the rain seemed to strike the glass of his bedchamber windows with all the force of a room full of petulant children throwing marbles at his head.
    Continuing to drink after returning home last evening had not been one of his more inspired ideas, but it had certainly seemed the right course at the time.
    He reached for the blankets to pull over his face and regretted it as both brain and stomach rolled in protest. Moving was obviously not a good thing.
    He lay there a little while longer, until the pressure in his belly gave him a choice—get up or piss the bed. He seriously considered making water where he lay, but decency and common sense won out and he slowly—painfully—inched out of bed. His head felt as though it had been cracked open like a soft-boiled egg.
    He managed to make it to the bath and relieved himself in the commode. He barely managed to flush before everything left in his stomach became too disgusted to stick around any longer and came rushing up his throat. Retching, Jack doubled over the porcelain and heaved until nothing was left.
    He felt somewhat better after that, well enough to strip off his befouled evening clothes and turn on the water for the shower. Thank God this hotel had all the modern amenities he had become accustomed to. Of course, it helped that he was half owner of the establishment. He andTrystan both had private apartments on the upper floors of the Barrington Hotel. The towering brick structure had been completed earlier that year and was located between the Strand and Victoria Embankment, not far from Charing Cross. Trystan had predicted that the area was ripe for this kind of growth and since his instinct had never been wrong before, Jack jumped in with both feet. Vienne La Rieux had been one of their heaviest investors, which was part of the reason Jack had met with her almost immediately upon his arrival in London. The rest of the reason he wasn’t quite clear on, but if Trystan wanted to be vague, he’d earned the right.
    As for the Barrington, it hadn’t been opened for long and already it was doing a smashing business. It was expensive, luxurious, and over the top in comfort and elegance. Rich people, Jack knew, would pay a lot of blunt to be kept in comfort and even more for other people to see them being kept in comfort.
    After showering, he shaved and dressed, and found to his delight that coffee and breakfast had been delivered while he bathed. Nothing cured a hangover like a big sloppy breakfast and strong coffee, and he dug into his eggs with gusto.
    After eating, he brushed his teeth and then set off for Mayfair. He had letters for Trystan’s brothers Greyden, the Duke of Ryeton, and Archer, both of whom were investors in several of the ventures Jack and Trystan had financed together, and many others which Trystan had instigated before Jack became his full partner. He had promised Tryst he’d deliver the letters as soon as possible; and this morning was perfect as he had a meeting later in the afternoon, with a new tenant of one of their shop properties.
    The rain had let up by the time he exited the carriage in front of a large neoclassical-styled home in the prestigious West End not far from Hyde Park. It was the kind of house that inspired envy, of course,