Read Online The Bridegroom by Joan Johnston - Free Book Online Page A

closely into her sister’s eyes. “Then why don’t you want him here?”
    Becky sighed and levered herself up onto the foot of the bed. “You will think I am silly.”
    “I often think that,” Reggie teased.
    “He will know,” Becky said.
    “Know what?”
    “That my marriage is … not entirely happy.”
    Reggie did not argue with her sister. Mick had always been good at reading faces, something he had learned in the orphanage in Dublin, where divining what someone was thinking might help him avoid a blow or manage an extra portion of gruel. And Reggie had to admit, Becky’s face spoke volumes about the state of her marriage.
    The slight puffiness in her lip had not lasted beyond the morning after Penrith had struck her, but the wounded look had not left her eyes. Mick could not fail to see it.
    Reggie reached for her sister’s hand and twined their fingers together. “I will not say a word about … about what I saw. I promise.”
    She felt Becky squeeze her hand. “Thank you, Reggie. I could not bear it if Mick were to learn the truth.”
    “He would not blame you for it,” Reggie said.
    “I know that. But he will pity me. And that is much worse.”
    “Won’t you please let us help you escape this marriage?” Reggie asked.
    When Becky shook her head, Reggie felt a hot tear spill onto her hand. She took one look at Becky, then gritted her teeth to keep her own chin from quivering.
    She might not be able to save her sister, but she could save herself. If Carlisle failed even one test, she would dismiss him. Spending the rest of her life as a spinster or a maiden aunt, even being stuck on the proverbial shelf, was preferable to a life filled with disappointment, with disillusion, and with utter disdain for one’s spouse.
    R eggie’s nose pinched as she entered the Smuggler’s Den and was assailed by the smells of spilled wine, male sweat, and cheap perfume. A servant at the door handed them each half-masks, and Carlisle helped her to don hers before putting on his own.
    The cacophony inside was punctuated by shouts of joy and groans of despair as patrons won or lost at the tables. Now she knew why such places were called gaming hells. How could any decent gentleman bring a lady to such a place? It seemed Carlisle had flunked a test she had not even meant to give.
    Before Reggie could ask to be taken home, she felt the earl’s arm around her waist ushering her through thejostling crowd. A moment later they passed through a door at the back of the room, and the noise was shut out behind them. She found herself in a quiet, elegantly decorated room where masked patrons like themselves stood or sat around tables where various games of chance were being played.
    “What is your pleasure, Reggie?” the earl asked. “Hazard? Faro? Whist?
Rouge et noir?
Piquet?”
    Reggie realized too late that there was a flaw in her plan to determine whether Carlisle was a high-flyer. The only sharps or flats she had ever come in contact with were on the pianoforte. And though she had heard of gambling vowels, she wasn’t certain precisely how one obtained an I.O.U.
    “How about whist?” she ventured.
    “Very well. Come this way.”
    Carlisle led her to a square table where a lady and gentleman were sitting, but which had two empty seats. “May we join you?” he asked.
    “Of course, Carlisle.”
    Reggie turned to the earl, her mouth rounded in surprise. “He knows who you are!”
    The earl grinned. “May I introduce my friend and solicitor, Mr. Roger Kenworthy.”
    “But I thought—”
    “So nice to meet you, my lady,” Roger said, rising and bowing to her. He turned to the lady who had risen along with him and said, “May I introduce Miss Millicent Waters.”
    “So very nice to meet you, my lady,” Millicent said with a bobbing curtsy.
    Reggie leaned over to whisper to Carlisle. “I thought the purpose of coming here in masks was to remain anonymous.”
    “To everyone else here, you are anonymous,”