An Angel for the Earl Read Online Free PDF Page A

gem beyond price.” The earl stared pointedly at the gaudy bracelet in his friend’s hand. Fortnam’s ruddy cheeks got redder.
    â€œNot at all the thing for Frederica, of course. It’s a parting gift for Mimi.”
    â€œWhat, never say you are giving up the delightful Mimi, and for a mere wife?”
    Fortnam laughed. “Just you wait, my boy. It’ll happen to you someday. But that reminds me why I was so glad to see you. Here.” And he took out his checkbook and wrote a draft on his bank for a hundred pounds. “Remember that old wager we had over who would turn benedict first? I’m more than happy to pay up. No, don’t argue. I know you’re going to say to keep the money for a wedding gift, but I really want to settle up the best bet I ever lost.”
    Kerry was just staring at the note in his hand. A hundred pounds? “I don’t know what to say. I—”
    â€œThat’s all right, Stanford, I know you can’t believe it’s me touting parson’s mousetrap, but you really ought to try it. Of course, my Frederica is divine. You ought to find an angel for yourself, man.”
    A hundred pounds? “I believe I may have met one just last night.”
    * * *
    The stickpin money went to purchasing a pretty tea service for the newlyweds; half the hundred pounds went to Demby, for safekeeping.
    â€œAnd I don’t care what the blasted chimney sweep said, something’s wrong with this fireplace that’s stinking up the room. Call in another if you have to.”
    When he shut the window—demned waste, letting his coal heat all of London—that woman was there again. Her gown didn’t seem quite as sheer, or quite so skimpy. Perhaps it was a trick of the daylight, for she certainly hadn’t lost any of her allure. “My, you are persistent,” he said, thinking of the fifty pounds in his pocket. He really needed it for the card game later, but…“What is the price, anyway?”
    â€œTo keep your soul from eternal damnation? They wouldn’t give me specifics, so I’ve been trying to find out.”
    Kerry ran his fingers through his carefully arranged brown curls. “Persistence be damned. Not that moralizing tripe again, I pray you. Just name a figure.”
    â€œIt’s too bad you are not a Papist,” Lucinda went on as if he had not spoken. “You could simply confess your sins, sincerely repenting them, of course, and be spared the hellfires.”
    The earl lit a cigarillo, a sure sign of his frustration, that he might smoke in front of a lady—no, a female, even—without asking permission. “Ma’am, you are sin personified, and I confess I am already burning for you. The only thing I might repent beyond the cost is having to listen to any more of this claptrap. Sincerely.”
    Lucinda stamped her foot. “Oh, how am I going to make you pay attention?”
    Kerry inhaled deeply on the cigarillo. “I assure you,
chérie
,
you have my complete and total attention.” Then he watched as the lightskirt bit her lip in concentration, muttering words he thought sounded like
rattle-pated rake
and
bone-headed bounder.
This dasher was certainly adding new dimensions to the oldest profession.
    He exhaled in a perfect ring. Lucinda’s scowl turned into a smile as she waved her arm through the smoke without disturbing the circle. Kerry blinked. “Excellent, ma’am, although I did have more in mind than parlor tricks.”
    â€œOh, you must have buckram wadding where your brain is supposed to be! I know, touch me.”
    â€œAt last.”
    Now, a gentleman would have reached out in a gentle caress along her cheek, or a soft stroke on her bare upper arm. Stanford was well past the stage for gallantry. He reached to wrap his hand around one of those enticingly round, milk-white globes that were barely concealed by the bodice of her gown. And touched nothing. His