For the Earl's Pleasure Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Of course that is true. I will do better, Mother.”
    Her mother’s brows furrowed as she glanced around furtively, letting go of the rigid persona she tried to play and reverting to the more natural flighty, paranoid bird that she was. “You don’t have need of Dr. Myers, do you?”
    Ice crackled down Abigail’s spine. “No, no, definitely not, Mother. I am completely purged. Fine. Wonderful even.” She smiled brightly, the ice cracking even at the corners of her mouth. “I have just been speculating on the whereabouts of Earl Rainewood and Mr. Templing.”
    “Well, I don’t believe those two are where you should concentrate your marriage efforts, dear.” Her mother’s face took on a dreamy cast. “Of course, the heir to a dukedom would be magnificent. And if you had worked your wiles on him properly long ago before he was heir…or if you had secured him afterward instead of letting him slip away…but Lord Rainewood is all but betrothed to the Malcolm girl.”
    “Yes, of course.” The very idea that she would concentrate “marriage” efforts on Rainewood was so laughable that it wasn’t even remotely funny.
    “Let us speak with Mr. Farnswourth while Mrs. Browning is off on her mission—lovely catch for us to secure her,” her mother gushed. Abigail thought it more a case of their deep pockets nicely lining their dragon companion’s own. “I have seen Mr. Farnswourth send more than one speculative look in your direction. A steady stream of invites there, and seventh in line to an earldom. Seventh in line is nothing to scoff at. You never know, dear, you never know!”
    For a second her mother held out a hand as if she would take Abigail’s arm, but her mother seemed to recollect herself in time and her face changed from eager excitement to a more rigid, controlled expression. She woodenly waved Abigail forward. “I expect you to make an afternoon appointment with Mr. Farnswourth as well, if you can. The end of the season will be upon us soon, and we do want to have a number of good options.”
    “Yes, Mother.” With her head held high and a cheerful smile plastered on her face, Abigail pushed aside the insidious thoughts about when her mother had become so reserved in her physical affection and instead followed her through the crowd. She had survived for years without any purposeful physical contact from her mother—she’d survive another few hours, days, or years as well.
     

    A half orchestra played enthusiastically as couples in full ball attire danced merrily around the Grayton House ballroom. Valerian allowed himself a rare moment of shock. What the devil had just happened? One minute he’d been walking from a gaming hell with Templing, thinking of home and her , and the next he was standing in his father’s house in the midst of an immense party. Grayton House should have been devoid of guests. Servants should be scurrying around making last minute preparations for the party in two day’s time. A party didn’t simply just happen .
    Which meant he must have spent the last two days in some sort of alcohol induced stupor. Damn. He thought he’d left those days behind. He looked down at his evening clothing—yes, this shirt, jacket, and cravat were exactly what he had been wearing to the Malcolm’s fete and to the hells afterward. Dear God. He would never live this down. Abigail Smart would rub it in his face for all eternity.
    He couldn’t allow her the upper hand. Not after what she’d done to him so many years ago. He needed to change quickly, hide in one of the anterooms, or practice his verbal barbs.
    An underbutler skirted the edge of the crowd, staying watchful but apart from the proceedings.
    Valerian detached himself from the column rooting him and approached just close enough to be seen and heard by the servant. “Fetch me Samuels, and hur—” Astonished for a second time, he watched as the servant sauntered right past him without a lick of acknowledgment. Cheeky