All Men Are Rogues Read Online Free PDF Page A

bonnet.”
    “Please?”
    She stared into those pleading greenish-gray eyes. Well, the man had been quite considerate of her situation these last few days, and his mother was a dagger-toothed harpy….
    “Very well.” It would not be too terrible to divert herself a bit with the inevitable distractions Polite Society offered.
    “Thank you.”
    They strolled along in companionable silence.
    He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You know, this is the first time I have ever flagrantly disobeyed my mother. I do believe that you are a negative influence on me, Miss Amherst.”
    “Sometimes a little transgression is good for the soul. Strengthens the blood.”
    “Or takes one to the devil.”
    “You mean we’re not already there?”
    They shared a little smile.
    Thunder rumbled off in the distance.
    “You were correct about the weather.” He looked up. Clouds were forming into gray clusters on the horizon.
    She sniffed the air. “I have always had a fine sense of approaching storms.” Regrettably, she had not always shown a particular talent for coming in from them.

Chapter 4
     
    E velyn stood at the top of the white marble staircase and beheld the glittering masses attending the Coventry Ball that evening. She soaked in the dazzling diamonds, intricate hairstyles, and colorful costumes of the ton and could almost hear the clank as her social armor slipped into place. Since turning fifteen she had attended various court functions around the world with her father. The languages, costumes, and mores were different, but the social particulars were always the same. She had learned at a young age that steely reserve cloaked behind a pleasant demeanor was the key to mastering any social context.
    “Being the daughter of a knighted diplomat, you must have attended some marvelous balls,” Lady Fontaine commented airily as she waved her lacy fan and scanned the dance floor.
    The orchestra was playing a quadrille, and the dancers squared off and partnered in methodical rhythm. Evelyn was thankful no one would ask her to dance. Appreciating the added protection her public mourning allowed her, she adjusted her black bombazine gown and snapped open her black crepe fan. The heat from the masses assembled below was already climbing to the top of the stairs like smoke from burning embers.
    Miss Madeline Fontaine stood on the tips of her toes, like a twittering bird perched on high, scanning the current above a stream, looking for tasty morsels to dissect. “Miss Erringston is quite the fashion with that deep flounce. And I love her hair. I will have to see if Esmie can do that style. And look at Mr. Darbon’s vest. Why, it must be twenty different shades of red. How appalling.” The young lady giggled.
    “Shall we?” Barclay tilted his head toward the crowd.
    Evelyn accepted his proffered arm, and they walked down the white marble stairs close behind Lord and Lady Fontaine.
    “Quite the crush,” the bright-eyed seventeen-year-old stated happily from Barclay’s other side. “Lady Wellingsford will be pleased. Oh, there is Miss Abernathy.” She pointed her fan across the crowded floor.
    Evelyn braced herself as they dove into the sea of people. She glided along in the tide of muslin and lace, holding on lightly to Barclay’s arm. She was jabbed countless times by the pins of the ladies pushing past and bumped and elbowed on every side by the hordes of loud, colorfully dressed Fancy. The air was rank with heavy perfumes; roses mixed with musk, carnations, violets, and lavender. Her stomach churned with the sickening combinations. The laughter and commentary converged into a wave of discordant clamor blaring out the melody of the ensemble. For someone used to isolation for the past few months, it was like being thrown into a bucket of freshly caught fish waiting to be gutted.
    Barclay leaned close. “This must be a bit much for you. I understand the back room is usually more quiet.”
    She nodded, and he said something to his