Read Online It Happened One Midnight (PG8) by Julie Anne Long - Free Book Online Page A

Persian, beneath slanting little dark brows. A pixie or a sorceress’s face, Argosy would have called it, but then, he would. Jonathan preferred his women blond and cool. “Unusual” invariably equated with “complicated,” in his experience, and “complicated” was synonymous with “anathema.”
    Argosy would have completely missed the pragmatism and intelligence that shone in them.
    The thing was, he hadn’t mentioned the printing press to her, and this was fascinating. Apparently not only did she lurk outside the homes of powerful dukes, she selectively overheard bits of conversation, and not the sort he might have anticipated. For all he knew the sole purpose of these salons was for her to gather intelligence.
    And yesterday she had asked why he needed the duke’s money.
    “A friend of mine, a German gentleman currently living in London, has developed the capability to print mass quantities in color—chromolithography, it’s called. I believe its possibilities are legion. He’s not the only lithographer hoping to print in color, but he’s the only one I know of in London.”
    Argosy’s head dropped back in a pantomimed snore. “And Redmond would invest in that, too, but I may have mentioned he hasn’t any blunt to speak of at the moment.” He’d momentarily forgotten to be languid in a surge of desperate and unworthy-of-him competition. “He invested it all in the silks. He has. No. Money. At all.”
    Jonathan turned his head slowly toward Argosy and pinned him with an incredulous black look.
    Argosy looked back at him almost helplessly, an apology in his eyes, as if he couldn’t help himself. She was that sort of woman. She didn’t particularly try to do it, but Jonathan suspected it was really only a matter of time before men came to blows—or pistols—over her.
    He, of course, wasn’t going to be one of them, but he didn’t particularly want Argosy to be one of them, either.
    Tommy seemed to be all but deaf to Argosy. “Mr. Redmond, has your friend considered that he could likely make a fortune printing . . . shall we say . . . colorful playing cards featuring . . . explicit images?”
    Jonathan went still.
    He briefly closed his eyes as the suggestion spiraled into the depths of his mind like a guinea tossed into a wishing well.
    It was brilliant .
    Illegal . But brilliant.
    “Or perhaps . . . depicting members of the current court? Or members of high society?” he mulled, half to himself. Ideas rippled out from ideas rippled out from ideas.
    “Do you speak euphemistically when you say ‘members,’ or . . . ? Because either, I’m sure, would be popular.”
    It was an excellent double entendre and he rewarded it with the wicked grin it deserved, and she grinned back at him, and the air surrounding them was dangerously effervescent for a moment, until he remembered he had no money and he was supposed to be married by the end of the year.
    “Tell me, Mr. Redmond.” And here her fan drooped forward to touch his chest, in something perilously close to a caress. “Are you good at this sort of thing? Investing?”
    “Yes,” he said shortly.
    He’d just noticed that Argosy’s eyes were fixed on where her fan met his chest, and he was reddening in a way that boded no good.
    “ I like investing in ruby necklaces that match the flames in a certain temptress’s hair,” Argosy volunteered curtly. Forgetting to be languid, but not to be hyperbolic.
    Tommy swiveled to Argosy again. “Do you? I think Rundell and Bridge may still be open for business at this time of the day, but you may need to hurry,” she said briskly.
    Jonathan couldn’t help it. He laughed. It was only what Argosy deserved, given the allowance announcement. But then he took pity on him. It wasn’t as though he particularly wanted Miss de Ballesteros’s attention.
    “Why don’t you tell our hostess what your particular talents are, Argosy, before she becomes bored of us and drifts away to pollinate another