Read Online One Touch of Scandal by Liz Carlyle - Free Book Online

accustomed to the notion of being a mother. Indeed, your whole life has turned upside down.”
    Grace managed a watery smile. “I loved the girls, you know,” she said. “But Mrs. Lester does, too. She has a houseful of servants and toys, and has always yearned for daughters. Once this is over…well, I shall ask permission to visit. I shall hope for the best.”
    For the first time, his dark eyes seemed to soften. “I had a stepmother myself,” he said solemnly, “though I was nearly grown. But Pamela was kind—too kind, really—and much loved. You have my sympathy.”
    â€œThank you.”
    He turned, then hesitated for a moment, his hand upon the doorknob. “Where may I find you, Mademoiselle Gauthier, after today?”
    â€œFind me?” she asked. “Find me for what?”
    The softness in his eyes had vanished. “Should something come up.”
    For an instant, Grace hesitated. But hesitating would make matters no better. For now, she was stuck. “I am at my aunt’s house in Manchester Square,” she answered. “Lady Abigail Hythe.”
    â€œYou look none too happy about that.”
    Grace’s mouth twisted wryly. “One must be grateful for a roof over one’s head—or so I am often told.”
    â€œAh, like that, is it?”
    She shrugged and let it go.
    Lord Ruthveyn pulled open the door and offered his arm. “So you were followed here by one of Metropolitan’s finest, were you?”
    Grace managed a weak laugh. “Yes, and by now he must be wondering what’s become of me.”
    Lord Ruthveyn glanced down at her. “Let’s keep him wondering, shall we?” he murmured, starting down the wide, white staircase. “Do you know Spenser House? There is a narrow little passageway just round the corner from it that gives onto Green Park.”
    â€œA secret passageway?” Grace smiled.
    Ruthveyn shrugged. “An often-overlooked passageway,” he clarified. “Let me take you through the gardens and show you the back way out. Perhaps you can enjoy a leisurely stroll home in solitude.”
    They had reached the bottom of the wide staircase. The dark young man still stood at the tall counter, running a finely manicured finger down one page of an open ledger.
    â€œBelkadi,” said Ruthveyn.
    â€œYes?” The man lifted his eyes.
    â€œHave you seen Pinkie Ringgold?”
    â€œAcross the street,” he answered absently. “Playing doorman for Quartermaine’s hell.”
    They could only mean Ned Quartermaine, thought Grace. Everyone knew of him; he ran the wickedest, most exclusive—and the most discreet—gaming salon in all London. It was so discreet, Grace had apparently walked right past it, unaware.
    â€œGo over there,” said Ruthveyn, “and start a row with Pinkie.”
    Belkadi shut the ledger. “Very well,” he said. “Do you wish anything broken? Bleeding?”
    â€œNo, we’ve a constable dawdling about,” said Ruthveyn. “Just put the fear of God in him and create a distraction while I show Mademoiselle Gauthier out the back.”
    Belkadi bowed and started for the door.
    â€œAnd drag Pinkie’s carcass over here when you’re done,” Ruthveyn added as they turned down the narrow back stairs. “I’ll fetch Bessett. I should like the four of us to have a word.”
    Eyes wide as saucers, Grace glanced over her shoulder as Belkadi vanished out the front door.
    Ruthveyn patted her hand where it lay lightly on his coat sleeve. “There, Mademoiselle Gauthier, you see? Belkadi will feign a little danger to distract the police.”
    Grace cut a dubious glance up at him. The only danger in St. James’s, she had begun to suspect, had her fingers wrapped round his arm.
    And quite possibly, her life in his hands.

CHAPTER 3
Pinkie Pays a Social Call
    W omen, thought Lord Ruthveyn, have ever been