My Scandalous Viscount Read Online Free PDF Page A

wanted this for her? I love Carissa as if she were my own!”
    “Your own what? Lapdog? Your fluffy little cat? She’s not a pet, Jo! She is not a toy, as I’ve been telling you since the child was six years old! She’s not an accessory made to match one of your gowns, to be picked up and coddled when you remember her, then forgotten when you’re too busy with your social calendar.”
    “How dare you criticize me? I’ve done the best I can to raise her—I’m not her mother! Well, she’s turned out better than your pair of spoiled harpies!”
    “You insult my daughters?” he had bellowed. “No more, Josephine! I will not stand for this. Your foolishness has done enough harm to our niece’s life! I’m taking Carissa to London, and that is my decision. I’m her legal guardian, so perhaps I am ultimately to blame. She only remained with you on my permission, which is hereby revoked!”
    Brother and sister had not spoken since.
    Carissa hated having been responsible for such a monstrous family row. Aunt Jo had flounced off on a long Grand Tour, while Lord Denbury had duly brought Carissa up to Town.
    After a stern dressing down that had put the very fear of God in her, he had installed her in his home as a lesser member of his family, under his protection, just in case any more seducers drew a target on her chest.
    But he had kept her secret, and as she hurried up the stairs, Carissa understood full well that another misstep off the straight and narrow path would not be tolerated.
    She’d be tossed out into the street or maybe sent to a nunnery. To this day, her uncle eyed her with private distrust and disapproval. Her only grace was that he had not told a soul, not even his own wife, about what had happened in Brighton. To be sure, Lady Denbury would not have allowed her into the house if she knew. She would not have wanted Carissa contaminating her own daughters.
    Only three people in the world besides herself knew her shame—her aunt and uncle, and the lying cad who had deceived her. She prayed every night Roger Benton had not told anyone about how he’d succeeded with her. That had been the arrangement: a sum of gold in exchange for his secrecy. A nice little nest egg so he could continue his artistic pursuits. No one wanted to pay for his stupid rhymes, after all. He was no Byron.
    No wonder she was shaken that Lord Beauchamp had seen through her mask of purity, she admitted to herself. As she reached the top of the stairs, she vowed for the eighth or ninth time in as many days that she would not be going near him again. And her vow held—until she reached the little door to the Denbury theatre box, where she paused uneasily.
    He’s going to die.
    If she went through that door, returned to her seat, and pretended nothing had happened, she might well end up with blood on her hands.
    His blood.
    Another loss. And this one would be her fault, because, owing to anger and pride, she had chosen to say nothing when she could have spoken up and warned him of the danger.
    Blast it, she should have told him plainly what she had seen, not because he deserved it, but because it was the right thing to do.
    She closed her eyes. Oh, Lord, what have I done? Had she no conscience? She glanced back woefully toward the stairs, then bit her lip in indecision. What is there to decide? His life could be at stake. You must go after him.
    Warn him, like you should have done before. At least you have to try.
    She just hoped she wasn’t already too late.

Chapter 3
    W hat an utter headache of a female!
    Who did she think she was to take him to task for his lack of morals—his mother? Actually, his mother was worse in that department than he, Beau mused as he stalked across the wide, opulent lobby of the theatre, still fuming.
    He really did not need that mere slip of a girl pointing out things he preferred to gloss over, like the ugly side of the haut ton’s favorite sport: infidelity.
    Indeed, he knew firsthand how it