Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) Read Online Free PDF Page B

darling. So you are already one
step toward overcoming the nasty rumors.”
    Auntie slapped her friend on the arm
with her fan. “I told you to curb your bluntness. How do you expect to catch a
new husband with that tongue?”
    “Posh.” Lucinda waved at Gillian’s
aunt. “I don’t want another husband. Thirty years with a man as wonderful as
Hector is enough to keep me warm until I die. I just want to dance. I miss it.”
    “That’s perfectly all right,” Gillian
quickly interrupted, seeing exactly why her aunt and Lucinda were friends. They
both spoke their minds and strayed from the topic of conversation. “What you
said is partially the truth. I was once friends with the duchess, but I’ve no
doubt my aunt used a multitude of favors to get these ballroom doors opened for
my sister and myself.”
    “Not true,” Auntie protested, but her
flushed face indicated otherwise.
    The older woman glanced past Gillian
to where Whitney stood gazing toward the ballroom and humming. “Your sister?”
    Gillian nodded.
    “She’s lovely as well,” Lucinda said.
    “Thank you. Auntie, my favor?”
    “Ah, yes! Lucinda, dear, will you
help me distract my brother-in-law so these two precious girls can have a bit
of fun?”
    “Just the thing to make my night
interesting,” Lucinda crowed. “Can he be enticed to dance?”
    “Doubtful, but you never know.”
    “Come along.” Lucinda grasped
Auntie’s hand. “You know I love a challenge.”
    The minute Auntie and her friend
stood in front of Father, Gillian hurried to her sister. “Time to disappear,”
she whispered and nudged Whitney into motion. Giggling, they dodged into the
crowd and across the threshold into the chaos and heat of the
Duke and Duchess of Primwitty’s glittering ballroom.
    “Are we searching for Mr. Sutherland
again?” Whitney asked.
    “Of course.” Gillian scanned and
discarded each gentleman for being too short, too old, too fat, or their hair
too dark. “Good grief,” she grumbled as someone bumped into her back. “This
could take all night, and this ballroom is too crowded and reeks of an overuse
of perfume.”
    “You should depart at once if the
perfume offends you,” a feminine voice said to her back.
    Gillian clenched her teeth at the
high-pitched tone she had tried to wipe from her memory. Pasting a smile on her
face, she turned to greet Lady Staunton. A scene was out of the question, but
the idea of placating the woman who glared at her over a man Gillian didn’t
know nor cared to know made her stomach turn. Before she could make a false,
cheery hello come from her unwilling lips, a melodic voice came close from her
right.
    “Lady Gillian and Lady Whitney, there
you are, my dears. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
    Gillian blinked. Were her eyes
deceiving her? Sally—no, the Duchess of Primwitty, Gillian corrected
herself—reached toward her and pulled Gillian close. Gillian gaped, too stunned
to speak. It had been years, eleven precisely, since she and her childhood
friend had spoken.
    Sally eyed Gillian before offering a
placid smile to her curious guests. “Quit glaring, Serena,” Sally murmured in a
voice dripping with honey, “and run along before I have you shown to the door.”
    “You wouldn’t dare,” Lady Staunton
said, “Your husband would be furious, and you know it.”
    “I know nothing of
the sort.” Sally squeezed Gillian’s wrist just a bit. “And I’m very daring. Now
off you go. And do try to be nice for the rest of the night.”
    They stood in silence, watching Lady
Staunton depart. When her red hair was no longer visible, Gillian dipped into a
proper curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
    “Gillian Rutherford!” Sally erupted
into laughter before grabbing Gillian by the elbow and towing her fully into
the busy ballroom. “Surely you jest! As long as we’ve known each other and you
think to call me anything but Sally.” She waved Whitney closer. “You too,
Whitney.”
    Gillian studied