A Perfect Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page B

inner voice cried out.
    She looked at Dante Black, and was taken aback by the cold, calculating glint on his pinched face. She could almost hear his sinister thoughts: This is what I told you would happen if you defended Marcus Hawksley, but there’s still time to change your story.
    Perhaps she should seize the opportunity Dante offered. Cry confusion. Female hysterics. Loss of memory. Claim she had attended the auction to view quality watercolors. Knowing her interest in the arts, that was a story her father would believe. After all, there was even more at stake than a stolen painting; a man had been assaulted.
    She glanced again at Dante, and her blood chilled at the victorious gleam in his eye. A thought struck her, and she froze.
    What about Marcus?
    He needed her as an alibi. For whatever reason, Dante wanted to prove Marcus guilty for crimes that she knew for a fact he did not commit.
    Could she abandon an innocent man? A good man?
    And Marcus was a good man, she was certain, despite the “black cloud,” as he had called it, which hovered over his head. He had refused her blatant offer when she was certain most men would not have. Others would have taken her virtue without a second thought, knowing that society would smear the woman’s reputation all the while praising the man for his sexual prowess.
    But not Marcus. He had thought of her father, had even said she deserved better than him. No, she had to stay. She couldn’t throw an innocent man to a bloodthirsty wolf like Dante Black.
    She looked her father straight in the eye. “I’m sorry for disappointing you, Father. But Mr. Hawksley didn’t steal the painting or attack Dante’s man.”
    Edward stiffened. “Isabel?”
    “Mr. Hawksley was with me, you see. We were…together the entire time.”
    Isabel heard Lady Yarmouth’s quick intake of breath followed by Lord Walling’s low curse.
    “I see.” Edward stood, his expression tight with strain. “And just where might I find Mr. Hawksley?”
     

    In the library of the Westley mansion, Marcus clenched his fists in futile frustration as the two guards eyed him warily. Both had pulled out pistols from their coat pockets and aimed them at his chest as soon as the library door was secured.
    Marcus’s jaw hardened. Dante Black knew his business. If the crooked auctioneer had left Marcus alone with one armed guard, it would have been a hell of a fight. But with two? And more critically, with Isabel Cameron somewhere in this house alone, Marcus couldn’t risk starting a battle.
    An image of Isabel flashed through his mind as he had last seen her. Long, sable hair, the clearest blue eyes he had ever looked into, and the body of a temptress robed in virginal white. With the feel of all that soft, womanly flesh pressed against him, he had come dangerously close to taking what she had eagerly offered.
    If it wasn’t for Dante’s untimely interruption…
    Marcus strode to a window behind a dusty oak desk, all the while aware of the guard’s eyes on his every move. Leaning on the window sill, Marcus surveyed the gardens below.
    None of this made any sense. Dante Black wanted to blame the theft of the Gainsborough work as well as the assault of one of his men on him. But why?
    Marcus knew little of the auctioneer. Dante had worked for the prestigious Bonham’s Auction House. Bonham’s opened its doors in 1793, twenty-one years ago. Thomas Dodd, a well-known print dealer, and Walter Bonham, a book specialist, founded the firm, and its reputation was unsullied. Dante Black had been the head auctioneer at Bonham’s until it was rumored that he had a falling out with Thomas Dodd himself. Since then, Dante had resorted to estate sales of deceased wealthy art patrons. Marcus had attended numerous auctions conducted by Dante over the past year in his quest for quality artwork.
    So why would Dante Black want so desperately to accuse Marcus?
    They had never exchanged a cross word. To the contrary, Dante had made a