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

the bane of my existence.
    And one needed no gift of foresight to know that this one would be no different.
    Try as he might to avoid the fairer sex—avoid them, that was to say, even more assiduously than he avoided the rest of the human race—he was nonetheless a man, with a man’s appetites. And, apparently, a man’s wish for intrigue. Perhaps there were even a few shreds of chivalry left in him.
    Whatever it was that drove him, it took Ruthveyn all of three minutes to drag his friend Bessett from the coffee room and brief him regarding his curious encounter with Mademoiselle Gauthier. It took another five, however, to justify his decision.
    They stood near the top of the marble staircase, Lord Bessett scrubbing a pensive hand round his chin. His eyes, as usual, were wary. “You feel strongly we should take this on, I collect,” he mused. “I confess, I cannot see why the Fraternitas has any business in it. Even if she did know Lazonby in Algiers, the woman is not one of us.”
    â€œYou don’t know that.”
    A knowing smile tugged at Bessett’s mouth. “Oh, but you do,” he said. “And if she were, you would have said so already.”
    Ruthveyn’s expression tightened. “I’m not sure of anything here.”
    â€œHow much does she know about Lazonby?” Bessett dropped his voice. “Did you tell her where he was?”
    â€œDon’t be absurd,” he replied. “I told her he had been called home, which, insofar as it goes, is perfectly true. Now do you mean to help me or not? Until we hear from Lazonby, this is what I mean to do.”
    Lord Bessett threw his arms over his chest, and appraised Ruthveyn through narrow eyes. “Now why is it, old chap, I get the feeling the lady is comely?” he murmured. “Then again, feminine pulchritude never held much sway with you, did it? You were always drawn to inner beauty.”
    Suddenly, there was the sound of the downstairs door crashing inward, followed by a shuddering thump, a couple of thuds, then a string of curses that colored the air blue.
    â€œThat will be old Pinkie Ring,” said Ruthveyn on a sigh. He jerked open the door to the coffee room. “What’s it to be, Geoff?”
    Bessett inclined his head almost regally. “It is to be exactly as you wish, Lord Baphomet. Are you not our Prince of Darkness? And we your lowly Templar masons?”
    Ruthveyn jerked his head at the door he held wide. “You’ve been reading too much medieval rubbish again,” he snapped. “Get in, and try to keep those two from killing one another.”
    It was no easy task.
    In the end, they were compelled to put a large table between Belkadi and his quarry, then send for a bottle of strong sherry, though the afternoon was but barely upon them.
    â€œI didn’t say noffik, you bleedin’ savage!” Pinkie Ringgold swore, lunging across the table at Belkadi.
    â€œWhoa!” Bessett leapt up, grabbed Pinkie, and hauled him back toward his chair.
    â€œFucking Moorish bastard!” Pinkie jerked against Bessett’s grip, his visage swollen red with rage.
    Belkadi sat, unmoved. “Terribly sorry, old boy,” he said with an air of utter boredom. “I could have sworn you insulted the cut of my coat.”
    â€œThe cut of your coat, eh?” Lord Bessett let his gaze drift over Pinkie’s rumpled brown affair with its mismatched buttons. “A misunderstanding, I daresay. Gentlemen, we are neighbors—occasionally even business associates. Let this one go, shall we?”
    â€œBut of course,” said Belkadi.
    Pinkie shrugged off Bessett’s grip, rolled his shoulders restlessly, then sat, snatching up the slab of raw beef one of Belkadi’s minions had just set down.
    Belkadi regarded him dispassionately as Pinkie slapped the beefsteak to his right eye. “Send me the bill, Ringgold, for your ruined cravat,” he