A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) Read Online Free PDF Page A

ahold of him.
    He glanced around, realized that every chair had been claimed in expectation of the Chathams’ entrance. When had the room filled?
    Harry Chatham escorted his wife and sister-in-law to their seats. “Lord Ravenswood, may I present Lady Marguerite’s sister, Miss Suri Thurston.”
    John merely nodded. Did her eyes narrow a bit? Did they spark with anger because he refused to vocalize? Ah, had she a temper? Hell, he was doing all he could not to allow another lascivious thought to enter his mind. That precious mouth —
    Abruptly, he turned to Lady Marguerite, took her gloved hand in his and kissed its back. Chatham turned and introduced Suri to Mr. Locksley, the gentleman to her right. With his wife and Suri seated, Chatham excused himself to the other end of the table where the Resident, Percival Bradleigh, British political agent for the East India Company, sat next to him. He was another suspect to keep an eye on. As Resident Minister, Bradleigh fell just short of the rank of envoy but he’d somehow managed to garner the trust of the powerful Indian emperor and thus held great influence, something that did not fit his rank. Furthermore, one of John’s secret agents had managed to purchase a rare Indian ruby from Bradleigh, proof of the man’s corruption. But John was hunting bigger game than a stolen gem, so he had let things lie.
    For now.
    He turned to the attractive woman on his left and slid her chair behind her knees. “Mrs. Abernathy, good evening.”
    Of all the women present, why did Lady Marguerite place this…this flagrant tease next to me? He turned to eye his hostess. One glance at the humor in her eyes told him she’d done it on purpose. There was hardly a person in the room, including Mrs. Abernathy’s husband, who didn’t think Mrs. Abernathy was John’s current affair, or that he’d bedded half the women in Delhi and beyond. Didn’t Marguerite love a bit of scandal, though?
    Devil take her.
    Well, let people assume whatever they wished. After all, the gossip that his occasional disappearances were for liaisons with married lovers served him rather well—he had a job to complete, and the greater the distraction, the less attention anyone paid to his whereabouts. Just so long as he didn’t get shot by a jealous husband.
    With all the ladies properly seated, he and the other men took to their own chairs. A tug on the chain, and Shahira dropped to the floor between him and Lady Marguerite. Suri craned her neck to peer over the table at the cat, just enough not to appear rude. John nearly laughed.
    Mrs. Abernathy regarded Suri with eyes gone cold. “You really must sit next to Shahira sometime.” Beneath the table, her hand slid to John’s knee.
    He flicked it away. Damnable woman.
    The frigid smile that touched Mrs. Abernathy’s lips destroyed what was left of her fading beauty. “Shahira is the only true competition we ladies have. Isn’t that so, Your Grace?”
    He gave her a deliberate and rude once over. “My dear Mrs. Abernathy, since you are happily ensconced in your marriage, I doubt you should use the word, we . You are happily established, are you not?”
    She gave a throaty laugh and ran a finger down his sleeve. “Ah, so cruel you can be to a dear friend.”
    Across the table, Locksley chuckled. John scowled at him. At least someone was enjoying the evening.
    He glanced down the row of guests and spied Ravi Maurya, a member of one of the wealthiest native families in India. Almost royalty, they considered themselves. The man studied Suri with an intensity that made his emerald eyes glitter. When he caught John watching him, he turned and conversed with the guest seated to his right.
    John’s attention focused on Suri. If it weren’t for her fair English skin, she could easily be related to Maurya. He doubted any other race of people sported eyes as fiercely green as certain Indian castes. Her hair, so dark it could be called black in the lamplight, framed a face