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

party went on, they were rutting away. My poor mother tried to make excuses. He never did blow out his candles. And a few hours later, he—”
    “Hours?”
    “Indeed. His supermodel of the moment, Cara, actually passed out, and Simon lurched down the back stairs into the kitchen, half-mad. He grabbed another woman—my French tutor, of all people! They disappeared for more than a few ticks of the clock. At the end of the party, a few women still loitered, I think hoping to be nearby when the very eligible Simon Northam appeared again. And they were. And still he kept rutting, even through an odd sort of earthquake that brought the upstairs roof down. He barely even noticed!”
    Since there was no stench or nausea, Felicia knew what Mason said was true. Many women were bubble-headed enough to care only about His Grace’s pretty title, face, and bank balance. On one level, she understood. Something about him was … compelling. But Simon Northam clearlytook advantage of his appeal. What sort of man treated women so disrespectfully? A selfish wanker who led a life of privilege and assumed no one was as important as he. A practiced seducer accustomed to having his every whim fulfilled, with little care whose heart he broke. The type of cad who had been Deirdre’s death knell.
    By contrast, Mason was a good man. He’d never use and discard women like toothpicks. Even so … could she marry him, knowing he had vastly different expectations for their union? She
did
care for him. Was it fair to walk way without trying to love him? If she married him, he would do his utmost to treat her well. If she left now, eventually she would have to date. The singles scene would be filled with sharks like Hurstgrove. What the devil was she going to do?
    “Felicia, darling.” He grabbed her hands. “Stop worrying. I know your concerns. I’ve no doubt your mind and heart are racing madly—”
    The door behind her fiancé opened, and Mason whirled around at the intrusion. The Duke of Hurstgrove lurched into the hall, looking utterly disheveled.
    Felicia gasped. Her heart jumped in her chest.
    Dark hair fell into his unshaven face, which looked as if it had been used as a punching bag. One eye was blackening. A cut rent his lip. His bow tie sat askew, and his shirt gaped open, exposing flashes of a bronzed chest. He swayed on his feet, gripping the door frame for support, his knuckles bleeding. Every muscle in his torso rippled. Distress and heat washed over Felicia.
    He and Mason had the same glossy brown hair, chocolate eyes, and strong jaw. Despite the dozen years between them, they looked the same age. But the resemblance ended there. Rather than Mason’s boxer’s nose, a strong, aristocratic one bisected Hurstgrove’s face. A cleft dimpled the duke’s squarechin. High cheekbones slashed each side of his face. When he wasn’t arguing a case, Mason exuded an affable charm. His Grace put off something darkly riveting, an air of mystery. And charisma. The man oozed sex. Just looking at him caused electricity to sizzle across Felicia’s skin.
    Damn it, she refused to be attracted to him, even in passing. He was the sort of man she detested—lascivious, selfish, completely unaware of the pain he left in his wake. Her odd, visceral reaction to him made little sense.
    “You’re late,” Mason spat to his brother. “You’ve been … fighting? Bloody hell! Shave and get dressed so we can carry on.”
    Hurstgrove grabbed Mason by the lapels and shoved him against the wall. “I need a list of every guest attending and every person working this wedding.”
    Mason pushed him away. “What you need is to piss off and get dressed. You can’t go anywhere like this. You look like a ruffian.”
    His Grace’s fists tightened in Mason’s lapels. “I need that list.
Now!”
    Felicia frowned. What the devil was wrong with the man?
    “I’m getting married and spending the rest of my life being happy,” Mason growled back. “You might try