Read Online An Invitation to Scandal by Kelly Boyce - Free Book Online

masculinity and tangible hint of the outdoors clung to his skin. It did not surprise her. This man was not built as some of the dandies who pranced about town. Strong and solid, he dominated the room. At least, what she could see of it. Which wasn’t much.
    “You should not be here.”
    Indignation lifted her chin. What right did he have to chastise her? He knew nothing about her. “I beg your pardon. I have a key.”
    His sensuous mouth pulled into a tight line. “Indeed. And how did you come to possess this key?”
    “It was sent to me. I—I was invited. Just as you were.”
    “I doubt that,” he muttered.
    Agitation rolled off him in waves. “If you do not want me here, then why do you have me cornered in this room?”
    He opened his mouth to answer, then seemed to change his mind. “Is your innocence such an expendable commodity that you are willing to throw it away?”
    “How dare you!” Such things were not discussed, especially not with strange men in dark rooms. She quickly turned a blind eye to the irony of that thought, given she shouldn’t be in a dark room with a strange man to begin with.
    “How dare I? How dare you, to come in here as if this were some game. What did you hope to accomplish here tonight?”
    “I told you I came to meet Lord Roxton.”
     
    Nicholas gritted his teeth at her stubborn refusal to leave.
    It took every ounce of will to control his anger. At her foolishness. At himself. She had no idea what could happen to her here. These men were not used to dealing with a virgin. They would see her reticence as some kind of coquettish game, and not one that would end well in her favor. He had barely gotten her inside the room before Opal reached the top of the stairs. He knew it was her. The scent of her perfume was unmistakable. He didn’t want to think what would have happened if she had discovered them together. Or worse, cornered Miss Laytham alone.
    He glared at down at her. The moonlight over her shoulder illuminated the contours of her jaw, her generous mouth. Even dressed as she was, she stood out in this crowd of fallen women, widows and unhappy wives. Her virtue shone like a beacon through the mire of desperation where pleasure was a game and innocence held no value.
    And she had come here because of him.
    How to get her out without making a scene or revealing his own identity? Or worse, before Opal returned with the key to this room.
    Opal blamed Abigail’s uncle for her own downfall. His death at one of her parties had sent her worth amongst the demimonde spiraling downward. She cared little for Glenmor while he lived, outside of what he could provide for her, and she had not softened in this regard after his passing. The glee she took when telling him a member of the Laytham family planned on attending her party had been obvious. As if their presence validated the late Lord Glenmor’s own debauchery and absolved her from any responsibility in his death.
    “As I told you, Lord Roxton no longer attends these parties.” He struggled to keep his tone modulated, using an accent so she wouldn’t recognize his voice.
    “I find that very hard to believe. Lord Roxton lacks the morals required to give up his debauchery. This newfound sense of propriety is nothing more than a sham.”
    Her low opinion did not surprise him. What surprised him was how much it still stung. He had courted her, thought he had won her good favor, only to be told by her uncle any proposal he offered would not be considered. He was not a suitable candidate for Miss Laytham.
    He—a future earl, a peer of the realm—was not good enough for the only daughter of a youngest son and a poor vicar’s daughter, both of whom had been disowned by their families when they’d wed.
    The set down had galled him. How could he have ever known his bruised ego would lead to such tragedy? He had wanted to hurt Lord Glenmor and he had succeeded. But he had hurt Abigail in the process, as well as the rest of her family