Read Online Always a Scoundrel by Suzanne Enoch - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Suzanne Enoch
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going to be easy.
“What the devil is he doing here?” the Earl of Abernathy said as he lifted the embossed calling card off the butler’s silver salver.
Rosamund looked up from her book as her father stood. All morning, every time someone called at the front door, her heart had leaped into her throat. After four hours of it, she was surprised she could still breathe. Still, no one had yet elicited the heated response that might signify one of James’s supposed cronies. Until now.
“Shall I inquire, my lord?” Elbon asked in his usual toneless voice.
“No. I’ll see to—”
“Bram Johns!” James’s excited voice came from out in the hallway. “What the devil brings you here?”
It was amazing, Rose reflected, setting her book aside to cover the sudden shaking of her fingers, that James and her father could use nearly identical phrases and have nearly opposite sentiments behind them. As for herself, she couldn’t decide yet how she felt. Anyone with insight into Cosgrove’s character would ostensibly be welcome, but when that person had nearly as black a reputation as the marquis, the entire business became a bit muddy.
The two men entered the room, James with sunny green eyes and light brown hair, and Bram Johns with his pale skin and midnight features and clothes. He must have had some Spanish in his blood. Mesmerizing. And dangerous. Rosamund stood when her mother did, both of them curtsying. Somewhat to her surprise, Lord Bramwell sketched a shallow bow in response. The man did have manners, whether she’d ever heard of him using them before now or not.
Black eyes swept the room and focused on her, where they remained. “Good morning,” he said. “I thought I’d ask James if he’d care to go riding withme this morning. And perhaps Lady Rosamund might wish to take the air with us as well. It’s a fine day.”
“Lady Rose is to join me on Bond Street for shopping,” her mother said stiffly, disapproval in the straight line of her shoulders.
“Oh, but Mama, James and I get to go riding together so rarely these days. And that situation is not likely to improve.” She didn’t add that after a marriage to Cosgrove none of them would likely see her very often, but hopefully they understood that.
Her parents exchanged a glance, and then her father nodded. “Very well. At least with Rose present, James isn’t likely to step into a card game.”
“Father,” the viscount complained, his cheeks flushing. “We have a guest.”
By the door, Lord Bramwell flicked an imaginary speck of dust from the black sleeve of his coat. Whether he was annoyed or amused, Rose couldn’t tell. “In all honesty, James,” she ventured, hoping she wasn’t about to find herself uninvited from the outing, “I don’t think you need to dissemble. Lord Bramwell is probably quite familiar with your skills at wagering.”
“That I am,” Bramwell returned easily. “And since I rarely wager during daylight hours, everyone’s purse is safe. Shall we?”
Rosamund picked up her book, since her mother hated seeing books lying about the house. “Give me five minutes,” she said, and hurried out the morning room door without waiting for an answer.
As she passed by Lord Bramwell, his fingers brushed hers. She didn’t know whether it had been an accident or not, but the way her pulse sped at the contact made onething perfectly clear—she could not trust her own body where he was concerned. If he was to teach her how to deal with Cosgrove, she needed to realize her own odd…susceptibility to him. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was more trouble where James’s cronies were concerned.
As soon as she fastened the last button of her gray riding jacket, she hurried down the stairs again. She could see James and his friend through the open front door, and when a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways back into the morning room, she nearly shrieked.
“Mama!”
“Hush, Rose. We only have a
“What the devil is he doing here?” the Earl of Abernathy said as he lifted the embossed calling card off the butler’s silver salver.
Rosamund looked up from her book as her father stood. All morning, every time someone called at the front door, her heart had leaped into her throat. After four hours of it, she was surprised she could still breathe. Still, no one had yet elicited the heated response that might signify one of James’s supposed cronies. Until now.
“Shall I inquire, my lord?” Elbon asked in his usual toneless voice.
“No. I’ll see to—”
“Bram Johns!” James’s excited voice came from out in the hallway. “What the devil brings you here?”
It was amazing, Rose reflected, setting her book aside to cover the sudden shaking of her fingers, that James and her father could use nearly identical phrases and have nearly opposite sentiments behind them. As for herself, she couldn’t decide yet how she felt. Anyone with insight into Cosgrove’s character would ostensibly be welcome, but when that person had nearly as black a reputation as the marquis, the entire business became a bit muddy.
The two men entered the room, James with sunny green eyes and light brown hair, and Bram Johns with his pale skin and midnight features and clothes. He must have had some Spanish in his blood. Mesmerizing. And dangerous. Rosamund stood when her mother did, both of them curtsying. Somewhat to her surprise, Lord Bramwell sketched a shallow bow in response. The man did have manners, whether she’d ever heard of him using them before now or not.
Black eyes swept the room and focused on her, where they remained. “Good morning,” he said. “I thought I’d ask James if he’d care to go riding withme this morning. And perhaps Lady Rosamund might wish to take the air with us as well. It’s a fine day.”
“Lady Rose is to join me on Bond Street for shopping,” her mother said stiffly, disapproval in the straight line of her shoulders.
“Oh, but Mama, James and I get to go riding together so rarely these days. And that situation is not likely to improve.” She didn’t add that after a marriage to Cosgrove none of them would likely see her very often, but hopefully they understood that.
Her parents exchanged a glance, and then her father nodded. “Very well. At least with Rose present, James isn’t likely to step into a card game.”
“Father,” the viscount complained, his cheeks flushing. “We have a guest.”
By the door, Lord Bramwell flicked an imaginary speck of dust from the black sleeve of his coat. Whether he was annoyed or amused, Rose couldn’t tell. “In all honesty, James,” she ventured, hoping she wasn’t about to find herself uninvited from the outing, “I don’t think you need to dissemble. Lord Bramwell is probably quite familiar with your skills at wagering.”
“That I am,” Bramwell returned easily. “And since I rarely wager during daylight hours, everyone’s purse is safe. Shall we?”
Rosamund picked up her book, since her mother hated seeing books lying about the house. “Give me five minutes,” she said, and hurried out the morning room door without waiting for an answer.
As she passed by Lord Bramwell, his fingers brushed hers. She didn’t know whether it had been an accident or not, but the way her pulse sped at the contact made onething perfectly clear—she could not trust her own body where he was concerned. If he was to teach her how to deal with Cosgrove, she needed to realize her own odd…susceptibility to him. If there was one thing she didn’t need, it was more trouble where James’s cronies were concerned.
As soon as she fastened the last button of her gray riding jacket, she hurried down the stairs again. She could see James and his friend through the open front door, and when a hand grabbed her arm and yanked her sideways back into the morning room, she nearly shrieked.
“Mama!”
“Hush, Rose. We only have a
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