A Woman Scorned Read Online Free PDF

Moseby’s infrequent reports. Cole’s plan to follow shortly thereafter had come to naught. And now, he had to admit to himself that he had no wish to return.
    Cole spent the remainder of the morning at his club, taking a late, leisurely breakfast and debating with his cronies the state of the empire’s residual military strength. But as always, Cole came away a little empty, finding himself unable to fully savor the morning despite the intellectual stimulation it afforded him. Such occasions merely served as a poignant reminder of those men who had been left in the ditches of Portugal. Good officers and valiant men who would never again argue field strategy, never again take up arms for their king.
    Other men seemed to accept such things more readily, and Cole often suspected that his scholarly devotion to religion and philosophy had left him singularly unsuited for an officer’s life—or at least unsuited to the aftermath of such a life.
    Eventually, Cole returned to his rooms to catch up on correspondence, and then, with unerring care, he shaved and dressed for his meeting with Lady Mercer. He was half reluctant, and yet more than a little curious, to meet the lady once again after all these years. Although Cole was certain she would not remember him. No, she would not. Would she?
    He presented himself in Brook Street, only to find that he had arrived a quarter hour early. Cautioning himself that it would not do to wait upon the marchioness betimes, Cole resolved to spend his excess energy in pacing further up the street, then turning the corner to stroll through the mews behind. Like any good military man, he reconnoitered the establishment from all angles as he went.
    It was a typical Mayfair townhouse, though somewhat larger than most. Four rows of deep windows across the front, a service entrance below the ground floor, a narrow, well-shaded backyard with an elegant garden, and a row of fourth-floor servant’s dormers in the rear. Opposite the yard lay the mews. The quarters could probably house two carriages and provide accommodations for another half dozen servants.
    On this side of the alley, no one stirred. But in the back garden, a servant lingered, a huge, red-haired fellow, who was rather aimlessly hoeing about in a freshly turned flowerbed, seemingly unaware that he had just trod across a swath of spring daffodils. At Cole’s approach, the man tensed and lifted his eyes to stare malevolently across the low fence at him. The message was clear. Cole touched his hat respectfully and moved on past the garden gate. Lady Mercer’s servants, it would appear, were not the sociable sort.
     
    “
Psst,
Stuart!” In a sunny shaft of dust motes, Lord Robert Rowland stood, tugging plaintively upon his elder brother’s coattail, nearly yanking him off the crate on which he perched. Precariously balanced on his knees, Stuart, Lord Mercer, shook off his pesky young sibling, then stretched up to meet the high attic window, peering out over the dusty sill.
    “Quit jerking, Robin!” he cautioned his brother, looking down from the crate over one shoulder. “If you make me fall, Nanna shall hear it, and we’ll both be put to bed without supper!”
    Standing on tiptoes, Robert pulled a pitiful face. “But what’s that fellow in the mews doing now, Stuart? Let me up! Let me up! I want to see, too!”
    Stuart turned back to the window. “He’s just walking around the back.” The boy grunted a little as he tried to scrub the grime from the glass with his coat sleeve.
    “Hey, Stuart, d’you think he might be a spy?” asked Robert eagerly. “D’you reckon he’s the fellow who poisoned Papa? Perhaps we could trap him and catch him, if he’s the one.”
    Stuart looked down with a scowl. “Shut up, dolt! We’re not to know about that! And this fellow in our mews is an army officer, I told you already. They just shoot the enemy. They don’t have time to go about poisoning folks in their bedchambers.”
    But