Conspiring with a Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page A

shambles? Why did she have an enemy intent on destroying her by exacting revenge on the only man Whitney had ever loved? She knew why.
    Disgusted, she sat up as rage filled her. She needed something to throw, but she didn’t want Lady Audrey flouncing in here demanding to know why things were being flung about the room. Whitney snatched the ledger off her desk, judged it light enough not to make too much noise and hurled it across the room. It hit the brown chair and fell to the floor. That felt good. Now, if Mrs. Blightson had been standing there and gotten smacked in the face by the ledger, that would have felt even better.
    “Crazy woman,” Whitney muttered to herself. “I may have convinced my sister to break off the betrothal to your son, but he was touched in the head trying to blackmail my sister into marriage. He had destroyed himself with blackmail and gambling.” She slapped her palm on the desk. “I did not destroy him.”
    “Who are you talking to?” Lady Audrey asked, popping into Whitney’s office.
    “No one,” Whitney hastily replied and rose from her desk to retrieve the ledger, but Lady Audrey was already bending to get it.
    Lady Audrey walked toward Whitney and held out the journal. “I’ve never been good with numbers either. I completely understand your frustration.”
    “Thank you.” Whitney took the ledger and forced a weak smile. She trudged back to her desk as Lady Audrey departed the room, humming to herself. An unexpected pang of jealousy gripped Whitney. Despite Lady Audrey’s circumstances, she seemed genuinely happy. Why couldn’t Whitney get to that happy place? Or at least a place where she wasn’t miserable all the time?
    She had to find happiness in this new life. There was no choice. Her desperate promise to Mrs. Blightson to leave Drake and everyone she loved and disappear forever was the only thing that had stayed Mrs. Blightson from carrying out her revenge. The woman was cunning and had known very clearly just how miserable Whitney’s lonely existence would be.
    Staring down at the long rows of numbers, she wrote a figure, checked the calculation and scribbled it out with a groan. The ledger wouldn’t balance, and neither would her life—without Drake. She gripped the edge of the desk until her fingers went numb. She would withstand the pain. She’d been burden enough to too many people in her life; she’d not be the weight that dragged Drake under. He’d worked too hard to make something of himself.
    Weary, she pressed her head into her hands and flinched at the scratchy wig rubbing against her palms. How many years would it take to get used to the feel of the wig she wore to hide her long hair? She scratched her fingers against her itchy scalp. It may be infinitely safer to pretend to be a man if she was going to have to survive on her own, but it was deuced uncomfortable. Since she clearly had no head for math, being a private investigator who worked on “his” own was going to be more problematic than she had considered. How could she make money as an investigator if she could not make the blasted ledger balance?
    She drummed her fingers against the desk and thought over her problem. The money she’d managed to bring with her to London was running out. If Mrs. Blightson died that would solve all Whitney’s problems. The thought was unkind, but she couldn’t help it. Horribly mean people always seemed to live the longest. Maybe Mr. Blightson would sell his bank to someone who could not be influenced by Mrs. Blightson. Whitney snorted. That was unlikely. The woman would never let her husband sell his bank to someone they couldn’t control or at least persuade to their opinion. If luck would ever swing her way perhaps Mr. Blightson would somehow lose his influence over the other banks that could loan Drake money. Since all of this was highly unlikely this was the life she was stuck with. She had to make it work.
    At a soft rap against the door, Whitney looked