Read Online Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3) by Mia Marlowe - Free Book Online
Authors: Mia Marlowe
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an appropriate gown. Her cream and rose tulle was exceptionally fine and its bodice fitted her like a second skin. Even that crusty butler Baxter wouldn’t be able to fault it. The gown had cost the earth, but Monty claimed it was worth the investment. She might have worn it to dine with a duke and not have been out of place.
Of course, the décolletage was a bit more daring than she wished, but Monty insisted that a woman could provide an excellent distraction when needed merely by displaying that she was a woman. It would be a sin not to take advantage of the fact.
It wasn’t because she didn’t want to see Theodore after the debacle in the library. She missed his uncomplicated presence. She was beginning to need his unfailing adoration as much as an opium fiend craves her next draught of laudanum. It bolstered her confidence to have a man she could bring so neatly in line with her wishes with so little effort.
Nor was it because she had given up on Monty’s plan. The bones of the game were sound and there was no time like the present to sow the seeds. She suspected Monty might need her during the meal if the opportunity arose to drop a few well-placed hooks. It would be a shame to waste a captive audience because she . . . well, she might as well admit it.
She was afraid.
She drew a deep breath as Monty escorted her down the long hall toward the formal dining room. Afraid. Her belly contorted like a Chinese acrobat.
There was no doubt about it. She’d rarely experienced this gut-wrenching sensation, but she recognized it for what it was. Fear.
The clack of Monty’s heels on marble echoed against the walls as they processed to the dining room. The sound seemed to repeat “a-FRAID, a-FRAID” with a heavy soled accent on the second syllable. Emma couldn’t escape the sensation that she was marching to her doom.
How could she bear being in the same room with that scoundrel Lord Devonwood?
Or maybe she was the scoundrel. It was hard to have any moral certitude when one lived as she and Monty did. After the way her body had responded to the earl’s advances, she felt doubly false in her role as the professor’s blue-stockinged daughter. Surely like Hester Prynne, a scarlet “A” would materialize on her breast and everyone would know her body had nearly capsized the wobbly boat of her faux respectability. Not to mention the way she’d endangered the success of Monty’s plan.
And over nothing more than an ill-considered kiss.
Even though he’d agreed not to mention the unfortunate interlude in the library to his brother, she had no way of knowing whether the earl would keep their tawdry little secret.
She didn’t love Theodore. But even though she was set on making off with some of his money, she liked him immensely. If she focused solely on absconding with a good deal of cash, perhaps she wouldn’t have to see hurt on his boyishly handsome features. Some betrayals cut far deeper than being taken by a pair of confidence professionals.
“There you are, darling.” Teddy caught up with Emmaline and her father as they entered the elegant dining room.
He pressed an ardent kiss on her gloved knuckles. Judging from his clear-eyed gaze, it was safe to assume his brother had not spoken to him. He turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm.
“Teddy, please,” she murmured. “Not in public.”
Open displays of affection made her feel naked somehow, as if her reactions might be gauged by others for depth of feeling. Since her depth with Theodore was only about an inch, it was scrutiny she didn’t welcome.
Good thing no one had been about to observe her moaning like a ten-penny whore in the earl’s arms that afternoon.
Except the earl, of course.
She swept the room with her gaze. Monty had abandoned her to lean an elbow on the sideboard and was doing his best to charm the countess and a young lady whom Emmaline didn’t recognize. Lady Devonwood’s elegant cheekbones were echoed in the
Of course, the décolletage was a bit more daring than she wished, but Monty insisted that a woman could provide an excellent distraction when needed merely by displaying that she was a woman. It would be a sin not to take advantage of the fact.
It wasn’t because she didn’t want to see Theodore after the debacle in the library. She missed his uncomplicated presence. She was beginning to need his unfailing adoration as much as an opium fiend craves her next draught of laudanum. It bolstered her confidence to have a man she could bring so neatly in line with her wishes with so little effort.
Nor was it because she had given up on Monty’s plan. The bones of the game were sound and there was no time like the present to sow the seeds. She suspected Monty might need her during the meal if the opportunity arose to drop a few well-placed hooks. It would be a shame to waste a captive audience because she . . . well, she might as well admit it.
She was afraid.
She drew a deep breath as Monty escorted her down the long hall toward the formal dining room. Afraid. Her belly contorted like a Chinese acrobat.
There was no doubt about it. She’d rarely experienced this gut-wrenching sensation, but she recognized it for what it was. Fear.
The clack of Monty’s heels on marble echoed against the walls as they processed to the dining room. The sound seemed to repeat “a-FRAID, a-FRAID” with a heavy soled accent on the second syllable. Emma couldn’t escape the sensation that she was marching to her doom.
How could she bear being in the same room with that scoundrel Lord Devonwood?
Or maybe she was the scoundrel. It was hard to have any moral certitude when one lived as she and Monty did. After the way her body had responded to the earl’s advances, she felt doubly false in her role as the professor’s blue-stockinged daughter. Surely like Hester Prynne, a scarlet “A” would materialize on her breast and everyone would know her body had nearly capsized the wobbly boat of her faux respectability. Not to mention the way she’d endangered the success of Monty’s plan.
And over nothing more than an ill-considered kiss.
Even though he’d agreed not to mention the unfortunate interlude in the library to his brother, she had no way of knowing whether the earl would keep their tawdry little secret.
She didn’t love Theodore. But even though she was set on making off with some of his money, she liked him immensely. If she focused solely on absconding with a good deal of cash, perhaps she wouldn’t have to see hurt on his boyishly handsome features. Some betrayals cut far deeper than being taken by a pair of confidence professionals.
“There you are, darling.” Teddy caught up with Emmaline and her father as they entered the elegant dining room.
He pressed an ardent kiss on her gloved knuckles. Judging from his clear-eyed gaze, it was safe to assume his brother had not spoken to him. He turned her hand over and kissed the center of her palm.
“Teddy, please,” she murmured. “Not in public.”
Open displays of affection made her feel naked somehow, as if her reactions might be gauged by others for depth of feeling. Since her depth with Theodore was only about an inch, it was scrutiny she didn’t welcome.
Good thing no one had been about to observe her moaning like a ten-penny whore in the earl’s arms that afternoon.
Except the earl, of course.
She swept the room with her gaze. Monty had abandoned her to lean an elbow on the sideboard and was doing his best to charm the countess and a young lady whom Emmaline didn’t recognize. Lady Devonwood’s elegant cheekbones were echoed in the
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