Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) Read Free

girls knew their trade.
    Whoever the hell they were.
    He did not recall actually having sex with them, though. If memory served, he’d had them both on their knees last night, taking turns at pleasuring him with their filthy red mouths, and then he’d enjoyed the show of watching them pleasure each other.
    Same old.
    He stepped over one prostrate, scantily clad form and then the other as he headed to the door to bellow for Woodcombe to bring him a pitcher of spring water, a glass of juice, and maybe a loaded pistol.
    But on second thought, not knowing who the voices in the hall belonged to, perhaps a wee hint of discretion was in order.
    On the way to the closed door of the drawing room, he glimpsed his own reflection in the pier glass on the wall and scoffed.
    You look like hell, mate.
    Indeed, he looked as debauched as he felt—tousled hair, eyes nearly as red as a demon’s, body stripped half-naked by his latest pair of whores. He buttoned the placket of his trousers and then gripped the handle of the door, opening it a crack.
    Who the hell’s in my house at this hour?
    Peering out discreetly, he looked down the staircase and saw three females standing in the entrance hall. A bony servant girl hung back behind the other two. A plump matron in a ghastly brown coat with a black feather on her hat stood protectively beside the third intruder.
    This one—blond and slender—caught his attention.
    His eyes narrowed with interest. Much too young and tasty to be clad all in black. Ah, pretty young widow? My favorite. Hullo…
    She was angled slightly away from him so he couldn’t see her face, yet she seemed a bit familiar…
    Jason both stared and listened harder, the sleep and drink and dissipation slowly clearing from his eyes. It was the musical lilt of her voice that suddenly flooded him with shocked recollection, and whatever dying ember was left of his soul suddenly leaped to life within him.
    Holy God!
    His stomach flip-flopped, and his heart began to pound.
    Felicity Carvel?
    Immediately, he pulled back into the drawing room, out of sight, his blood throbbing in his veins. A tremor ran through him.
    What in the world is she doing here? he thought as titanic shame filled him that she should find him thus. She had never set foot in his house before!
    It had been a fortnight since he had last spoken to her, at her great-aunt’s funeral. It was always difficult seeing her, but even more so under such sad circumstances. Felicity had lived with the dear old dragon lady ever since her mother’s death several years ago.
    With her father dead, too, and her brother away on his expedition, Jason had stood as near to hand as he dared during the funeral, feeling awkward, saying little, but loath to leave her side, for he was well aware she had no one left now. Well, no one in England at the moment. No one she was close to. She did have an uncle of some consequence and two cousins, but they were more or less idiots.
    Not that he was much better.
    On that hard day, Jason had done his best to remain present for her, though in the background. And he’d tried not to stare, but he had been impressed with her grace in the midst of her grief. He had to admit the little freckled menace had grown up into quite a lady. On the other hand, God knew she’d had enough practice by now at the grim ritual of putting loved ones in the ground.
    All the ton had been sad to hear of Lady Kirby’s passing, the old spitfire. She’d had a sharp tongue and mirthful naughty streak, with an eye for the young bucks. She often liked to prod them in the backside with her cane as they walked by, which was always rather startling. In short, most of the rakehells in the ton had quite loved the old girl.
    Jason had been worried about Felicity ever since Her Ladyship’s passing, naturally. Yet for all his concern over what would become of her after her aunt’s death, at the funeral, he had remained—as always—afraid of venturing too close. Afraid of