A Terrible Beauty (Season of the Furies Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page B

friezes on the walls were trite, the work of a skilled painter, but not a singular artist. They were laden with sentimentality, but light in any true artistic depth. He buried a sigh as he continued to watch the audience. Musical evenings were located at the third level of Hell right beside country dances. Michael continued searching for his quarry. She was the real reason for his attendance tonight. He meant to see that she kept her claws sheathed around his brother permanently. Ah, there in the third row. Diamond and gold hair pins glinted amid her thick locks of dark hair. Few people could carry off yellow, he admitted, but she could. No vapid lemon-colored silks for this girl, though. The shade of her gown made her look as though she’d draped herself in the very glow of the sun itself.
    More than half the eligible men of the ton carried a torch for her from what he gathered, Drew included. She held little appeal for Michael, though. He liked bedding women – hot blooded ones who knew what their bodies were for and enjoyed using them. Lady Arabella Winston though undeniably beautiful, was a doll all trussed up in splendid gowns and artifice. She toyed with society as if it were a shiny bauble created strictly for her own amusement. There were always one or two of them in every year’s crop of debutantes who were more calculating and ruthless than the others. This year there were three.
    The Furies, they called them. He eyed them sitting together in a row, one pale, blonde, one with rich, reddish-brown curls and the last with hair the color of a raven’s wing. They were three uncommonly lovely girls, he’d give them that. One day, after they’d grown disenchanted with their advantageous marriages, he might enjoy sampling them in his bed. The dark one, Araby, would be first. Young Andrew had very good taste.
    After he'd finished interrogating his mother about the Araby chit, Michael had taken Drew around to his sport club and then on to Tattersall's to view one of the auctions. Opportunities to spend time with his younger brother were far fewer than Michael liked, but between business meetings and the renovations to his new townhouse his life was more a series of obligations than preferences.
    Michael's relationship with the rest of his family had never been particularly close. Since he'd returned to England successful, but still very much the prodigal son, he'd made peace with his eldest brother Henry, even starting a rudimentary friendship with the man. Not easy to do, given their parents’ mutual dislike of their middle son. It was one of the few things they’d agreed upon during their marriage. Once Henry and his wife returned from their tour of Italy Michael fully intended to continue building his friendship with his eldest sibling.
    The audience gave a round of polite applause signaling the end of an uninspiring, even dreary performance. Michael adjusted his position so that Lady Arabella would pass him as she made her exit. She moved gracefully, her head held high by her long, slender neck. It was a neck meant for collecting a string of slow, sensual kisses from earlobe to collarbone and damned if Michael didn't feel a tug of envy for the man lucky enough to give them. Her smile dazzled the beholder, but he noticed as she moved closer to him that it did nothing to warm her lovely, cognac-colored eyes. Cold and calculating. Oh, he had her number all right. She turned and addressed one of her friends.
    “That was truly ghastly. If she’s an accomplished musician, I’m Chopin. A Hereford steer would have better command of a violin than she does and a lighter touch. There were times I wanted to knock the instrument right out of her hands – excuse me, hooves.”
    Her friend’s laughed appreciatively. Michael agreed with her assessment of the young lady’s musical talent, but the girl in question was also their host’s daughter and Lady Arabella had made no attempt to lower the sound of her voice. Two young