The Dangerous Lord Read Free

a man’s vulnerabilities to find out what he wanted. “Then I’d best get started now, hadn’t I?” he said, turning quickly toward the door.
    â€œWe’ll see you next week at Sara’s new country house, won’t we? Emily’s looking forward to it. We won’t be staying at the house ourselves, since Emily hates to leave home for too long with the new baby, but we’ll pop over for the ball. And you must come and see the baby.”
    â€œI’ll be there. I promised to bring Katherine and her parents in my carriage.”
    Katherine. God only knows what she would make of this. It irked him that she might think him so callous as to flaunt a mistress while they were courting.
    Well, Lord X wouldn’t be mentioning Waltham Street in his column any more. Ian would make sure of that. First Ian would warn Miss Greenaway how to handle any inquiries; then he’d run this Lord X to ground. And when he did, the man would wish he’d kept to jibes about Bentley’s excesses.

Chapter 2
    The Countess of Blackmore recently provided her husband with an heir. Mother and child are thriving, so undoubtedly we shall soon see Lady Blackmore leaving her bed to renew her efforts for the poor. Such dedication in one so exalted must be commended, all the more because of its rarity.
    L ORD X, T HE E VENING G AZETTE ,
D ECEMBER 8, 1820
    T he red missile dropping past the window of Miss Felicity Taylor’s study strongly resembled a piece of fruit. At the sounds of a carriage screeching to a halt and a coachman spewing vile profanities, Felicity leapt from her chair and hurried into the hall.
    â€œWilliam, George, and Ansel, come out here at once!” she shouted up the stairs to the next floor.
    A suspicious silence ensued. Then one by one, three identical towheaded six-year-olds peered over the railing at her, guilty expressions smudging their faces.
    She glowered at her triplet brothers. “For the last time, you boys are not to bombard carriages with fruit. Do you hear me? Now, which one of you threw that apple?” When the boys muttered their usual protests, she added, “Therewill be no pudding for anyone at dinner until someone confesses.”
    Two heads instantly swiveled to stare accusingly at a third. George. Of course it was Georgie. He was as troublesome as his namesakes—the late mad king and the reckless son who’d ascended to the throne this year.
    His brothers’ defection leached Georgie’s face of color. “I didn’t throw it, Lissy, honest. I was eating it, and it was real juicy, so when I leaned out the window—”
    â€œWhich you’re also not supposed to do,” she bit out. “I’ve told you before, only lowborn ruffians hang out of windows and throw things at unsuspecting passersby.”
    â€œI didn’t throw it!” he protested. “It slipped!”
    â€œI see. Like last night when your Latin grammar ‘slipped’ and nearly put a hole in a hackney’s roof, or this morning when that snowball ‘slipped’ and hit the vicar.”
    Georgie’s head bobbed up and down. “Uh-huh. Like that.”
    She glared at him. Unfortunately, glaring at Georgie made no impact whatsoever on the incorrigible scamp.
    Nothing did, although that was understandable. The triplets were still reeling from Papa’s death last year, as was she. They’d never known Mama, who’d died within hours of their births. But Papa had been their world. They considered their sister a poor substitute, since the debts their architect father had left behind kept her too busy trying to provide for them to spend much time parenting them.
    Planting her hands on her hips, she stared at Ansel, the tattler among the triplets. “Where’s James?”
    â€œI’m here.” Her fourth brother appeared behind the others, his gawky frame towering over their bent heads.
    â€œI thought you were watching