Flirting with Ruin Read Online Free PDF Page A

coats. Fraser shook his head. ‘He didn’t suffer,’ he lied, as he always did, touching the old man reassuringly on the shoulder.
    ‘Thank you, Major Lennox. That is some consolation at least.’ Lumsden gave him a small smile, all traces of his former disdain now gone. ‘Now, if you will follow me, I will take you to the family.’
    Fraser followed him up the stairs into a magnificent reception hall on the main floor of the house, which seemed to be made entirely of marble. Lumsden opened the door of the drawing room. It was a lofty room, ornately corniced. Blue damask walls, blue window hangings, a number of huge gilded matching-blue sofas set against the walls, giving the impression of being some sort of oppressively formal underwater chamber.
    The Duke of Rothermere sat alone on the sofa at the far end. A faded man, was Fraser’s first impression, a shadow of his former self by the looks of it, thin, grey, leaning heavily on a gold-topped cane. An older woman and a very young one, both dressed in black, sat on another of the sofas, the former still as a statue, the latter moving restlessly, clasping and unclasping her hands, looking as if she would flee at any moment. Nervous, and on the verge of tears, by the looks of things. The younger sister, Lady Phaedra, Fraser surmised. On the third sofa sat another woman in mourning with an interesting face who must be Lady Katherine. And beside her, the only person not clothed in black…
    Dark red hair. Lush red mouth. And blue, blue eyes.
    Rosalind. Dear God, it was Rosalind. What the devil was she doing here?
    * * *
    Rosalind thought she was seeing things. She screwed her eyes tight shut, rubbed them, and opened them again, but he was still there—only slightly blurry now. Fraser. Just Fraser. Who was being announced as Major Lennox. How could she have been so bloody stupid as not to have put two and two together before now?
    A startled look from him told her that he was equally astonished by her presence, but he so quickly regained his composure that it was a small consolation. He was bowing over the Duke of Rothermere’s hand. It was not the most accomplished of bows, not really nearly low enough, especially not for Kate’s father, who was such a stickler for etiquette, but for once His Grace didn’t seem to mind.
    Fraser—Major Lennox, for God’s sake!—was every bit as—as compelling by the light of day. He was dressed carefully, neatly, but without flamboyance, just as she would have expected. The scar on his cheek was more livid in this light. It must have been deep, for it was obviously still healing. His appearance really was most— manly was the word that sprang to mind. Rosalind quickly suppressed a smile. Such a very overused word, manly, but so wholly appropriate. Really, she could quite forgive herself for having been so carried away last night. Was that a relief, or not? Lord, she had no idea, but what she did know, was pretty certain of, was that seeing him again was giving her ample grounds for regretting she had not allowed herself to become even more carried away.
    ‘May I offer my deepest condolences for the loss of your son, Your Grace.’
    Fraser’s words cut into Rosalind’s thoughts, making her feel horribly guilty. She cast a sideways glance at Kate, who was holding herself rigidly and eyeing Phaedra just as surreptitiously. The younger girl looked to be upon the verge of tears already, but catching her sister’s eye, she tossed her head back and managed a smile. Not a watering pot, and determined, despite her youth, to hold herself together, Rosalind thought admiringly.
    Obeying the duke’s regal nod to be seated, Fraser—she just couldn’t think of him as Major Lennox—had embarked upon a careful account of Lord Edward’s last battle. It sounded, Rosalind couldn’t help thinking, like something from the Iliad, with the duke’s youngest son in the role of Hector, all nobility and bravery, with nary a hint at blood and gore.