When Tempting a Rogue Read Free

his voice to little more than a whisper: “I’m certain, your lordship—and, if there is anything else , it is none of your business. Now, do we have a deal, or shall I remain here until the banks open and accompany you to collect my winnings?”
    It was a low but effective threat on his part. Of course Angelwood wouldn’t want such a humiliation as Trystan accompanying him to the bank. People would talk; speculate as to Angelwood’s financial security. It would cost him business; and as a businessman, the earl knew just how much such talk was to be avoided.
    “Damn, but if you’re not a shark, Kane,” the older man allowed, not without a little respect. “I’ll give you what you want, but I want your word as a gentleman that you are not out to fleece my friend or bring her ruin in any way.”
    “And you have it, sir. The only plan I have regarding Madame La Rieux is to make both her, and myself, a lot of money.”
    The earl watched him for a moment before rising to his feet. He went to a painting on the wall behind his desk and took it down. Set into the wall behind it was a safe. Trystan averted his eyes as a courtesy. It wasn’t as though he could make out the combination at this distance.
    A few moments later he heard the painting being repositioned and the earl returned to the table. He set a packet of papers in front of Trystan. “My investment in the lady’s emporium scheme, and her marker for eight thousand pounds.”
    It took all of Trystan’s control not to crow with glee as he stared at Vienne’s signature on the marker. Finally . Finally, he had her exactly where he wanted her.
    “Thank you, my lord.” Collecting the papers, he pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. “I will take my leave of you now.”
    “Indeed.” The earl continued to watch him with an assessing gaze. “She won’t take this well, you know. This will not win you entry into her bed.”
    Trystan tucked the wonderful, treasured papers into his jacket. “Oh, that’s the last place I want to be, my lord. The very last.” As he made to leave, he turned and tapped the deed in the center of the table. “And you may have the property, my lord. Consider it a trade.”
    He left the astonished nobleman with a satisfied smile on his lips; and as Trystan collected his belongings from the majordomo and walked out into the wee hours, he reiterated to himself that he would never share Vienne La Rieux’s bed. Not again.
    But if she asked nicely enough, he might take her to his.
    D ressed in a flimsy green silk peignoir, Vienne La Rieux stood on the balcony attached to her bedroom and stared down into the darkness below. There was no movement in the dense garden behind Saint’s Row, but she’d wager at least one or two trysting couples remained in the private cottages she provided. She envied them for no other reason than the warmth of their sheets and the languid ease with which sleep would claim them. The rest of the melodrama she could do without.
    I am glad for my life , she told herself as she sipped a glass of whiskey, searching for a semblance of that warmth, of that melt in her bones. No one to make me feel small, to wish I were somewhere else .
    Or worse—make her believe she was someone else.
    Vienne was the kind of woman who harbored a general dislike for the company of others. Unfortunately, she loathed her own society almost as vehemently. But she was never quite as lonely by herself as she was in a room full of people with whom she had little or nothing in common. Even more unfortunate—or perhaps deserving—was the fact that lonely was exactly how she spent most of her life, except for when dear Sadie came to call, or when . . . well , that didn’t matter.
    Really, none of it mattered. She was only terribly, violently aware of being alone at this moment because the building was so quiet. The club had closed a few hours earlier and her employees had all gone home or retired for the remainder of the evening. The