A Rake Reformed (A Gentleman of Worth Book 6) Read Online Free PDF

whatever reason, to take Trevor’s greatcoat. “Sit this Mr. Trevor up, will ye, Jacob?”
    “Do ye think we should wake him?” Jacob eyed the sleeping man.
    Freddie half thought he might set his own meal aside and give his host a hand, then dismissed the notion, thinking he’d best leave his friend’s comfort to the couple.
    “He’ll rest much better once he has summin’ in his belly,” Hetta assured her husband.
    “I s’pose so.” He groaned, lowering himself to the ground, and tried to gently wake the patient. “Oi, come on, lad. Get up, now. The wife says ye need summin’ ta eat.” Jacob helped Trevor into a semisitting position. “That’s it; there’s a good lad.”
    Hetta fussed and cooed, coaxing a bit of broth down Trevor’s gullet with minimal protesting. It had been the only real food he’d eaten since . . . since . . . Freddie couldn’t recall when the last time was they had anything close to a proper meal. They’d existed on ale and whatever free bits they could manage to lay their hands on for more days than he cared to remember. These last two weeks had been miserable for them both. The journey would not have been extended if not for the abominable state of their transport, not to mention the inability to change their sorrowful cattle, and the deplorable weather and road conditions.
    After a few bites of broth-soaked bread, Trevor could no longer keep his eyes open. Soon he was resettled on the pallet, sleeping more comfortably than he had been earlier.
    “Thank you, Mrs. Morley.” Freddie could only offer words to show his appreciation. He wished there were some way to make amends and he felt ashamed that he was to blame for her current situation as well.
    “I’ll wish ye and yer friend, there, a Happy Christmas.” Hetta set the dishes on her tray and, with Trevor’s jacket and greatcoat draped over her arm, she left.
    Jacob cackled softly with his wife’s departure. He kept careful watch at the doorway then made his way to the opposite side of the room where he had tucked away the bottle and two glasses he’d brought earlier.
    As far as Freddie was concerned, Jacob was welcome to any sort of joy, with or without his wife’s approval, even if it came from a bottle. It was a vice Freddie had turned to once too often.
    Retrieving his stash from its hiding place, Jacob removed the cork and poured a bit of the liquid into each glass and handed one to Freddie. “Thar ye go, lad. Wot shall we drink ta? Yur health? Mine? Mr. Trevor’s certainly, eh?”
    “To your hospitality and that of your Mrs.” Freddie raised his glass to complete the toast before bringing it to his lips to drink.
    “An’ ta our host, Lord Brent. Huzzah!” Jacob cheered, winked at Freddie, and drained his glass in one gulp.
    Freddie nearly choked. “Wot?” His eyes watered when he swallowed hard. “Why would you toast to— He’s done nothing to warrant—”
    “We’re toastin’ with the finest from the cellar of his nibs.” Jacob refilled his glass and raised it in appreciation. “’E ain’t here ta drink it but we are, eh?”
    “Ah . . . no, he ain’t,” Freddie lied and drank to their good fortune.
    Jacob refilled both glasses. “I’ll bid ye a good evenin’ and goodnight, then.”
    “And to you also, sir,” he replied before being left to sit in his shirtsleeves, bootless, next to a glowing hearth. He cherished the glass of sherry in his hands. Not a very good sherry but it had been dispensed by Jacob Morley as if it were a treasured, aged French brandy and Freddie would not think of valuing the spirit any less.
    He sat there for a time, maybe hours. Freddie tried to get comfortable on an old upholstered armchair for sleep, but met with minimal success. The small, weak flames, the room’s sole light and heat source, could only cast faint shadows on the ceiling. He glanced at Trevor who lay still, breathing heavily at regular intervals, sleeping soundly.
    Freddie felt