Read Online Sweetest Little Sin by Christine Wells - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christine Wells
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Radleigh’s operations in London.
The only link he’d been able to discover between the omnipotent Mr. Smith and Radleigh came from an informant who no longer walked among the living. Radleigh possessed a list of government operatives, albeit written in code. Smith wanted that list.
On the night of Louisa’s birthday, Jardine had found his informant with his throat cut. Jardine had been set upon himself and then tortured until he’d convinced his assailants he’d simply been passing by the wounded man and tried to help.
But the malice with which they’d wielded their knives, the fact they’d dropped his pain-wracked body at his own door, told him they knew who he was, what he did. And that he needed to be very, very careful.
So damned ironic and typical that Louisa should have chosen that morning to visit his house. That she still lived meant they probably hadn’t seen her, or if they had, they hadn’t been able to discover who she was.
He couldn’t take the chance of them finding out now. He needed to stay away from her until he could find that bastard Smith and put an end to his vendetta, once and for all.
He bathed and dressed and went to his club, where the gossip ran as high as at any gathering of old tabbies at Almack’s.
Luck was with him tonight. Louisa’s brother, Max, Duke of Lyle, was talking with Nick. Usually, Jardine and Lyle maintained the appearance that they were slight acquaintances, but Nick’s presence meant Jardine could join them and discreetly pump Lyle for information about his sister.
“Louisa?” Max’s heavy black brows drew together as he looked down at the contents of his glass. “She didn’t tell you? Hush-hush for the moment, but she’s accepted Radleigh. They’re going to tie the knot when my mother gets back from her wedding tour.” He grimaced. “Which might not be until next year, the way old Woolly’s talking.”
Jardine’s face froze; the air hissed through his teeth.
Max glanced at him, then returned his gaze to his wine. “I’m sorry,” he said shortly, then set down his drink and left them.
Silence. Jardine was shaking. Actually shaking. He leaned forward to set his glass beside Max’s in case he disgraced himself and spilled it.
“God, I didn’t know,” said Nick. His face looked drawn, pale despite his tan, and Jardine knew what he was thinking. His Louisa, in the hands of a villain like Radleigh. It didn’t bear thinking of. He couldn’t allow it. He’d tear the world apart before he’d let that happen.
Jardine launched out of his chair and went after Max, ignoring Nick’s sharp warning to wait, think, not act precipitously.
Hell! Dammit, how was he to think when every cell of his body raged to plunge a rusty dagger through that smarmy bastard’s heart?
He walked out of White’s, into the rain, headed for Mayfair, Lyle’s home, hunching his shoulders against the wind, the pelting drops that stung his eyes and soaked his coat.
The only thought beyond murder that ran through his head was to thank Christ the wedding wasn’t imminent. He had time.
But the mere notion of Radleigh touching her set his blood steaming. He should have warned Max not to countenance the match, but how could he have guessed it would go this far? One minute, Louisa’s blue eyes were drowning in tears, her hands held out, imploring him to keep his wedding vows, the next she was getting leg shackled to someone else.
As he approached a darkened doorway, a breath of vigilance brought him to full alert. There was a dagger in his grip when a hard hand clamped around his upper arm.
Lyle’s growl arrested him, stopped the upward sweep of the blade that would have driven up, behind Lyle’s rib cage, straight to his heart. “Meet me at the Star and Garter in Seven Dials. Make sure you’re not followed.”
Jardine gave a curt nod, as the voice added, “And try not to murder some other poor sod on the way.”
“WHAT a truly incomparable day,” said Kate,
The only link he’d been able to discover between the omnipotent Mr. Smith and Radleigh came from an informant who no longer walked among the living. Radleigh possessed a list of government operatives, albeit written in code. Smith wanted that list.
On the night of Louisa’s birthday, Jardine had found his informant with his throat cut. Jardine had been set upon himself and then tortured until he’d convinced his assailants he’d simply been passing by the wounded man and tried to help.
But the malice with which they’d wielded their knives, the fact they’d dropped his pain-wracked body at his own door, told him they knew who he was, what he did. And that he needed to be very, very careful.
So damned ironic and typical that Louisa should have chosen that morning to visit his house. That she still lived meant they probably hadn’t seen her, or if they had, they hadn’t been able to discover who she was.
He couldn’t take the chance of them finding out now. He needed to stay away from her until he could find that bastard Smith and put an end to his vendetta, once and for all.
He bathed and dressed and went to his club, where the gossip ran as high as at any gathering of old tabbies at Almack’s.
Luck was with him tonight. Louisa’s brother, Max, Duke of Lyle, was talking with Nick. Usually, Jardine and Lyle maintained the appearance that they were slight acquaintances, but Nick’s presence meant Jardine could join them and discreetly pump Lyle for information about his sister.
“Louisa?” Max’s heavy black brows drew together as he looked down at the contents of his glass. “She didn’t tell you? Hush-hush for the moment, but she’s accepted Radleigh. They’re going to tie the knot when my mother gets back from her wedding tour.” He grimaced. “Which might not be until next year, the way old Woolly’s talking.”
Jardine’s face froze; the air hissed through his teeth.
Max glanced at him, then returned his gaze to his wine. “I’m sorry,” he said shortly, then set down his drink and left them.
Silence. Jardine was shaking. Actually shaking. He leaned forward to set his glass beside Max’s in case he disgraced himself and spilled it.
“God, I didn’t know,” said Nick. His face looked drawn, pale despite his tan, and Jardine knew what he was thinking. His Louisa, in the hands of a villain like Radleigh. It didn’t bear thinking of. He couldn’t allow it. He’d tear the world apart before he’d let that happen.
Jardine launched out of his chair and went after Max, ignoring Nick’s sharp warning to wait, think, not act precipitously.
Hell! Dammit, how was he to think when every cell of his body raged to plunge a rusty dagger through that smarmy bastard’s heart?
He walked out of White’s, into the rain, headed for Mayfair, Lyle’s home, hunching his shoulders against the wind, the pelting drops that stung his eyes and soaked his coat.
The only thought beyond murder that ran through his head was to thank Christ the wedding wasn’t imminent. He had time.
But the mere notion of Radleigh touching her set his blood steaming. He should have warned Max not to countenance the match, but how could he have guessed it would go this far? One minute, Louisa’s blue eyes were drowning in tears, her hands held out, imploring him to keep his wedding vows, the next she was getting leg shackled to someone else.
As he approached a darkened doorway, a breath of vigilance brought him to full alert. There was a dagger in his grip when a hard hand clamped around his upper arm.
Lyle’s growl arrested him, stopped the upward sweep of the blade that would have driven up, behind Lyle’s rib cage, straight to his heart. “Meet me at the Star and Garter in Seven Dials. Make sure you’re not followed.”
Jardine gave a curt nod, as the voice added, “And try not to murder some other poor sod on the way.”
“WHAT a truly incomparable day,” said Kate,
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