Doomsday Brethren, Book 04: Entice Me at Twilight Read Online Free PDF

urge to cry, she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She’d sought marriage to a friend who would care about her, work with her to build a solid future. A good husband, a nice job until the children came, a house in a quiet suburb, weekends in the park, holidays at the shore.
    With a few words, Mason had changed everything. That fact was like a hot knife to the chest. Her future had become a frightening chasm.
    “Have you seen your brother?” the dowager asked.
    “
Half
brother,” Mason muttered. “The freak.”
    This wasn’t the first time she’d heard Mason’s opinion of His Grace. She’d met the man once, just yesterday, so Felicia couldn’t comment except to say he deserved his status as England’s most eligible bachelor. He was titled, rich, and dangerously good looking. Many women fancied themselves in love with him. For a chance to win His Grace’s heart, these stupid cows gave away their bodies and opened up their hearts. Felicia shuddered to think how many of them he’d crushed under his very expensive boots.
    “Mason,” his mother chastised. “He
is
your brother.”
    Except for their similar coloring and eyes, Felicia would have never guessed it. The brothers’ personalities were night and day.
    Mason sighed. “No, I haven’t seen him. I told you he wasn’t reliable.”
    Thoughts racing, Felicia bit her lip. If His Grace failed to appear for the ceremony, perhaps they’d have to postpone it. That would buy her time to think about her dilemma withMason.
    “Hello, dear.” The Dowager Duchess peeked her head inside the room. “You look lovely, but terrified. Smile.”
    Felicia glided toward her on numb legs and did her best to comply, though it felt wooden. When Mason edged closer, he saw through her façade. His stare asked what she was going to do. She didn’t have a clue.
    The dowager turned and wagged a bejeweled finger in Mason’s face. “Simon will come, and when he does, you boys will get along. No fighting. Do I make myself clear?”
    Mason slanted his mother a long-suffering smile. “Indeed. What shall I tell him?”
    “I need him in the sanctuary right away.”
    “Of course,” Mason put a hand to the small of his mother’s back and escorted her to the stairs. “I’ll send him straight on.”
    The dowager looked at her younger son over the shoulder of her beaded, pale blue dress. “Come. You’re not supposed to see the bride before the ceremony. It really
is
bad luck.”
    “Give me one moment,” he pressed, his understanding smile disappearing the moment she fell from view. Then he faced Felicia. “Why did I let her talk me into this silly notion that we’d achieve instant family harmony if I asked Simon to be my best man?”
    Because Mason tried to please his mother, and no one could fault him for it. Down to his core, he was good and decent. Over the years, he’d comforted her during some of her lowest moments. Felicia could almost believe they could salvage their future together. Almost. Why couldn’t he be content to remain her friend?
    Mason cursed. “Simon must stop shagging his tarts long enough to get presentable and greet our guests.”
    Felicia had read the tabloid accounts of His Grace’s
very
active dating life, the lewd suggestions. No proof, but there were always pictures of him with beauties at this function or that. Of course he had no trouble finding women willing to have sex with him. His Grace had even made her belly flip when she’d first met him. Their handshake had given her a jolt—literally. One touch, and her skin had heated, her heart stuttered.
    Sophisticated, gorgeous, insanely masculine—everything about the man sent up her danger signals.
    “Tart
s
, plural?”
    “Indeed. He once shagged four women to exhaustion in less than thirty-six hours.”
    The tabloids had never mentioned
that
.
    “His thirtieth birthday present to himself,” Mason sneered. “In the middle of the party, he sneaked upstairs with his girlfriend. As the