A Scoundrel by Moonlight Read Free Page B

confidence. All worked against her. The man in the portrait in his mother’s apartments was big and powerful, with a personality that threatened to burst from the frame.
    In the flesh, he’d been… more.
    He wasn’t a pretty man, by any means. But there was beauty in that tall, strong body and that craggy, individual face with its beak of a nose and heavy black brows. No wonder Dorothy had been smitten.
    Still, Nell had expected more overt charm, a Lothario from a play, all smooth words and false compliments. She couldn’t picture this man filling a girl’s head with nonsense until she spread her legs.
    These riddles gave her a headache. And she faced a day’s work and, if she could evade the marquess, a night’s searching.
    Hope staged an uncertain return. Perhaps Leath’s unexpected arrival was more blessing than curse. Perhaps Nellhadn’t yet found the diary because this dedicated seducer kept his record of ruin with him.
    If so, the diary was now at Alloway Chase.
    “Darling, I didn’t know you’d come home.” From the chaise longue, Leath’s mother extended her hands toward him.
    He hated to see his mother’s health deteriorate to a point where she spent most days in her apartments. At least his rustication meant that he could devote more time to her. Guiltily he realized that he hadn’t been home since his sister Sophie’s hurried wedding last May. Parliamentary business had been pressing, as had his need to rise above the scandals engulfing his family.
    “I got in late last night.” He took his mother’s hands and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You look well.”
    It wasn’t true, but it was less of a lie than last time they’d met. The gray morning light through the large windows was stark on her thin body. But her cheeks held a hint of color and her eyes were brighter than he’d seen them in years.
    “I’m feeling better.” She indicated a chair, inviting him to stay. “How long are you here?”
    “Until people can say the Fairbrother name without a sneer,” he said flatly. He supposed that he’d learn to accept his exile, although at least with his mother he needn’t hide his bitterness.
    She frowned. “I’d hoped the brouhaha about your uncle might blow over by now. After all, it’s a year since he shot himself to escape a hanging.”
    A year in which everyone had eyed Leath as if afraid he might resort to violence and larceny the way his odious Uncle Neville had. A year in which Leath’s every political plan had fallen foul of some opponent mentioning the Fairbrothers’ infamous criminal tendencies. A family flaw onlywidely recognized since his uncle’s exposure as a thief and murderer. Thanks to Camden Rothermere, the damned meddling Duke of Sedgemoor, the whole world knew about Neville Fairbrother’s crimes.
    For months, Leath had been furious at Sedgemoor and his cronies. Only gradually had he admitted that ultimate blame for the family’s straits lay with Lord Neville.
    That was little satisfaction when another snide comment in the House of Lords topped one of Leath’s speeches with jeering laughter. For years, the Marquess of Leath had been the most powerful personality in parliament, his progress to the premiership taken for granted. The gossip now dogging him gratified his enemies—and a disappointing number of people he’d counted as friends. He was cynical enough to recognize that the world loved to witness an ambitious man’s fall. But recognition made it no more pleasant to be that man.
    “You forget Sophie,” he said grimly, rising and prowling toward the window, too restless to sit when reviewing his recent disasters.
    His sister had set tongues wagging afresh when she’d eloped with a penniless younger son who happened to be Sedgemoor’s brother-in-law. Sophie’s timing had been calamitous for Leath’s political hopes. The whole world now considered Fairbrother a synonym for flibbertigibbet. Or scoundrel.
    Neither adjective befitted a future prime