Read Online The Rake's Inherited Courtesan by Ann Lethbridge - Free Book Online

her cool distant beauty. His groin tightened. Mentally, he cursed.
    ‘Why would I?’ she asked. ‘I plan to become a shopkeeper, not a courtesan.’
    Her flat tone delivered a dash of cold water to his lust. He watched an expression of satisfaction dawn on her face. She intended to disgust him. What game was she playing?
    He’d been billed enough for expensive clothes by the last woman in his life to know quality when he saw it. ‘The mourning gown you wore to my uncle’s funeral was well cut and in the height of fashion. Made from the finest silk, if I’m not mistaken.’ He waved his glass in her general direction. ‘I’m sure my uncle preferred you in something more attractive.’
    Pain shadowed her eyes before she shuttered her gaze. ‘That part of my life is over.’
    He took a deep swallow of wine. ‘Really? Then what were you doing at the Sussex Hotel?’
    ‘Seeking a room for the night.’
    ‘With Lord Albert, no doubt.’
    Outwardly unruffled, she did not shrink from his gaze, but her hand clutched the locket at her throat. ‘No.’
    A low blow, he silently acknowledged, remembering the panic in her eyes when Lord Albert slobbered over her hand. Damn it, every time he thought about it, he wanted to throttle the snivelling fribble.
    What the hell was the matter with him? He never let a woman distract him. Miss Boisette had caused him nothing but anxious moments. ‘While we are on the subject, perhaps you would like to explain why you tipped me the double?’
    ‘Tipped you the double?’ She wrinkled her nose.
    The urge to kiss away the furrow on her brow swept through him. He wanted to do more than that. Even with a frown, her incredible beauty numbed his mind and shortened his breath. His blood thickened. Never had a woman tempted him like this one.
    He drew in a deep breath, crushing his desire. Dalliance with his uncle’s ward or mistress—which he no longer believed—remained out of the question if he wanted to preserve a grain of family honour.
    Hell. He needed to get rid of her and continue on his way to the Darbys’. He set his glass down, the chink loud in the quiet room. ‘Come clean, Miss Boisette. Why did you not stay with your friend? You took money to go into business and within an hour of my leaving you, I find you at a common inn hanging on the arm of some young coxcomb.’
    Arctic chill frosted her gaze. ‘Are you implying that I took the money under false pretences?’
    ‘I demand an explanation.’
    ‘You have no right to demand anything. You brought me here against my will and if you try to touch me, I will scream bloody murder.’
    It seemed he now had her full attention. This beautiful young woman, who behaved like a trollop one moment and an ice queen the next, needed a good shaking. ‘Do you really think the Dorkins will pay any attention?’
    Stark terror leaped into her eyes, bleakness invading their clear, cold depths like a plea for help. Fear hung in the air as thick and choking as smoke.
    What did a woman like her have to fear from him? She had tossed more lures at him than a falconer to an ill-trained hawk. And he’d almost come to her fist, jessied and hooded.
    Enough. He would do his duty and see her settled and he would see it done his way. Calmly, logically. The methods he used in his business dealings.
    He poured a glass of wine from the decanter at his elbow and schooled his face into pleasant cheerfulness. ‘I must apologise. My anger is directed at Lord Albert and that damn innkeeper.’ Hell, the recollection caused his blood to simmer all over again. ‘However, we did have an agreement, one you proposed and appear to have broken.’
    She didn’t speak, but stared at her empty plate as if trying to weave some new web of lies.
    He pushed a plate of comfits in her direction. ‘Here.’
    A pathetic peace offering, yet it eased the palpable tension.
    Sylvia gazed from the heaped pink-and-white sugared almonds on the blue dish to his face. Emerald fires