Improper Gentlemen Read Online Free PDF

silently cursed her own inexperience with flirtatious men. If only she was back at the poker table where she knew the rules and how to dampen the risks.
    “Evening, Garland.” Talbot drew out every syllable as if he was rolling out a welcome mat. He turned Charlotte with a dancer’s grace to face the newcomer. “My dear, may I present you to Sam Garland, my right-hand man? Sam, this is Miss Moreland.”
    “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Garland.” She extended her hand to the big man, whose neat black frock coat equipped him to disappear into New York’s Wall Street far better than into a mining town’s howling mob.
    “Pleasure is all mine, Miss Moreland.” He shook her hand briefly, his grasp nicely calculated to protect her from a potentially crushing grip. Formalities satisfied, he clasped his hands and waited.
    A passerby started to approach their circle too closely. Garland’s calm visage immediately shifted into a furious glare. The miner held up his hand in apology and stumbled away, seconds before spilling his beer on Talbot. Garland sniffed in dismissal and settled back, his duty accomplished far more efficiently than Johnson’s minion had done at the hotel.
    “Miss Moreland and I will watch the show from upstairs,” Talbot said.
    “All the regular boxes are sold, sir.” Garland frowned. “The poetry recital is a larger draw than expected.”
    “No, I meant my box. I don’t need to hear Poe’s Raven again, and my box has curtains, like the others on that floor.”
    At the top of the house, where the fancy women plied their wares. She’d never thought a single night’s folly would dump her irredeemably into their class.
    Charlotte kept her expression bland and unreadable, despite the urge to run screaming into the storm outside. Thank God for the discipline so painfully learned in Boston’s finest finishing schools. It had proved useful in more than one mining town.
    “Of course, sir.” Garland carefully avoided looking directly at her. “Your box is ready, just the way it always is.”
    “Excellent. Please have Russell send up a pot of his special coffee.”
    Not liquor to numb her resistance?
    “Certainly, sir,” Garland agreed. “Anything else?”
    “I don’t want to have any trouble tonight.”
    “Sir?” Garland looked nonplussed, clearly startled by an unusual statement.
    “If anyone’s temper should be frayed by visitors—such as the mayor’s staff—don’t let them blow off steam in here.” Talbot’s voice was no less deadly for all its quiet.
    He’d set his staff to guard against Johnson’s men? For her?
    Surprise, then delight, raced through Garland’s eyes. But when he spoke, he was steady as a deacon making vows. “Whatever you say, boss. Hair Trigger Palace will be polite as a Boston dowager’s front parlor.”
    “Thank you. Come along, my dear.” Talbot urged her into a walk and she went willingly, after nodding goodbye to Garland. Her feet had thawed enough to obey her, although she couldn’t have carried off a full-dress ball amid Boston’s finest circles.
    He led her up the main stairs to the second level, where well-dressed men and women leaned forward to watch the show from boxes the equal of any in London or Boston. There was less tobacco smoke here above the tables, and Charlotte could see the singer for the first time.
    A man shoved his way into the center of the tables below and turned to look around. His scarred face was brutal under his bowler and Charlotte shivered when his gaze sliced across her and Talbot.
    “Nine-Fingers Isham,” her escort muttered and glanced down at her. “Johnson’s man.”
    The intruder started to charge toward the stairs but Garland blocked his path. Isham tried to object but the Palace’s man insisted on taking the newcomer over to the bar, close to two burly bartenders. A big tankard of beer appeared and Isham glared at it.
    A moment later, he grasped the handle and leaned back to ostentatiously stare at a single,