A Gentleman and a Scoundrel (The Regency Gentlemen Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

serious for one moment, do. Are you really proposing to make Louisa jealous by paying your attentions to her sister?”
    “Do you think it will work?” the Duke asked.
    “I think it will make Marcus as mad as fire.”
    “Yes,” he said slowly and then laughed.
    “He will be as jealous as anything.”
    “Then he might be forced into declaring his hand rather than looking on from the shadows. It is about time Marcus Ashworth put his house in order. He has procrastinated for too long. Do you know, Jane, this might well be the proverbial bird that kills two stones.”

Chapter 3
     
    It was a magical evening.
    Louisa’s face glowed with happiness as she surveyed the scene before her. Vauxhall Gardens surely must be one of the most delightful, romantic places in the world, she thought wistfully. People milled around in their finery, the champagne flowed, kisses were stolen in the darkened walkways and the air was scented with jasmine.
    It was a week after the Duke had accompanied her to the Royal Academy and she had not seen him again in all that time. Truth be told, she was avoiding him. She had been out when he had come to take her out driving, ill when he had arranged a night for her and her aunt at the opera and deeply engaged in a conversation with another man when he had intended to ask her to dance at Almacks.
    She thought back to the day they had gone to the exhibition and the erotic painting that had made her start vigorously fanning her cheeks. The fact that even that message failed to elicit a response in the man on her arm proved what she thought of him; he was amiable and kind but incapable of passion. She was hoping that standing before such a painting would inspire him to look at her in a different way; to see that she had curves too; to see her as a woman who desired a man to want her in the way the painter had obviously wanted his subject. But he had declared that the lady had been cold and teased her over fig leaves. She had wanted to scream.
    The firework exploded across the night’s sky in a shower of yellow sparks as Nicholas Ashworth grabbed her hand and pulled her along one of the darkened alleyways. Lanterns were strung across the path, nodding gently in the warm summer breeze amongst the honeysuckle and roses. Laughter and music and the sounds of gaiety drifted upon the air, moths flew in tight spirals beneath the lamplights, as giddy as the fireworks popping above them.
    She giggled as they ran to the end of the walkway, feet crunching on the gravel as they ducked under an archway. Here was another avenue, flanked by tall hedges with a small Rococo style folly at one end. The walk was bathed in moonlight and utterly deserted. It was quieter here, away from the party that Louisa had come with, away from the throng of people, the laughter, the chatter and the music. Even the fireworks seemed to be once removed from the perfect surroundings in which she found herself.
    They slowed, laughing and he still held her hand, pulling her up the steps and inside the stone folly. The stone columns were almost blue in the moonlight and surrounded by white roses, their perfect blooms appearing as pale spirits from another world.
    In the darkness they stared at each other, smiling.
    “How did you know I was coming here this evening?” Louisa asked, coyly looking up at him through her lashes.
    “Your aunt has a fondness for me,” he replied, his eyes warm as they rested upon her with undisguised admiration. “I wheedled the information out of her.”
    “Shocking,” she said. “And how many other ladies do you meet in these walkways, Mr Ashworth?”
    “My lady,” he answered, his hand to his breast as if affronted by her suggestion. “I am not sure what you mean.”
    “I think you understand me very well,” she retorted. “You are the handsome Nicholas Ashworth. The darling of the Ton. I doubt I am the only female you have brought here.”
    “No,” he conceded, “but you are by far the