Celeste Bradley - [The Liar's Club 02] Read Online Free PDF

cool an of night caress her breasts. Swiftly, she grabbed it back and covered herself. Her face was hot against the cool breeze as she realized that she must not have come to the gardens on her own.
    Fumbling behind her with one hand, she discovered the snarl of corset strings and the torn lacing holes. Hadshe been attacked? Deep inside her, something cried out with age-old feminine fear.
    Yet she was unhurt, and her gown had been carefully unbuttoned, not a single tiny pearl gone astray.
    The back of her neck tingled. She looked about frantically, but there was no sign of anyone. Only her crumpled plumes, trod negligently onto the inlaid marble floor of the gazebo. The sight almost reminded her of something, or someone …
    Well, whoever had brought her here had disappeared for the moment. She’d best do likewise in case they decided to come back. With quick movements she retied the corset loosely halfway down, then did up her buttons as well as she could.
    She looked a scandal, she was sure. She’d go round the house and wait in the carriage, she decided, unwilling to search for Beatrice in the crowd. Picking up her skirts, she ran from the gazebo, back down the path toward the noise and light of the assembly, that same prickle down her neck speeding her on her way.

Chapter Three
    Dawn was attempting to break through the sooty skies of London when Dalton Montmorency let himself into Etheridge House after his painful night of posturing. Although no one met him at the door, he could tell by the smells of cooking and the faint noises from belowstairs that his household was up and about.
    He could have called for his majordomo to take his hat and light cloak—his own somber black ones, thank goodness, for he’d changed back into himself at the Liar’s Club—but Dalton didn’t bother. The Sergeant would only castigate himself for allowing “his lordship” to sully his own hand with a lowly door latch.
    He’d not been allowed to open many of his own doors in his lifetime, for Dalton had been a lord since the tender age of twelve, an unusual state of affairs within the aristocracy. Apparently the Montmorencys had a tendency to run through their male heirs rather quickly.
    He himself had only one possible heir, so he hoped that his nephew Collis Tremayne intended to take good care of himself. Dalton didn’t relish the idea of bringingthe chaos of a wife and children into his carefully ordered world.
    And it was so very ordered. He looked about him with satisfaction. Etheridge House was very fine and filled with items of beauty and value, just as it should be. Dalton could see living out his years in this house, a peaceful haven from the unpredictable element of the Liar’s Club.
    Yes, his life was in perfect balance. At least now that he was out of those intolerable high heels.
    The Sergeant came bustling into the hall, his face penitent at missing his master’s arrival. “Oh, milord! I thought you’d be staying at your club tonight or I’d have been watching for your carriage.”
    Dalton handed the man his hat and cloak. “Sergeant, I know how to open a door.”
    A clatter on the stairs drew the attention of both men. Collis Tremayne trotted down the wide curved stairway in a manner guaranteed to create maximum noise. Dalton’s head throbbed in response and he flinched.
    “Honestly, Col, one would think you were nearly thirteen, not nearly thirty.”
    Collis grimed and finished up his descent with a one-armed flourish onto the marble entry hall. “You’re a sour sod this morning. Is it because you are coming in so late or going out so early?”
    “Collis, you live here on my generous forbearance. I suggest you refrain from inquiring what is not your business to know.” Dalton caught himself in a yawn.
    “Well, let’s see … if you’re yawning, then my wager is on coming in late.” Collis threw his good arm over the militarily rigid shoulders of the Sergeant. “What’s the hob. Sergeant? Am I