Never Romance a Rake Read Online Free PDF

bestow her favors upon whomever she chooses.”
    â€œAnd often does,” remarked Enders flippantly.
    â€œAh, but one can only imagine what favors!” Valigny drew his fingertips to his lips for a kiss. “So by all means, let us play for money, my lord. I shall have need of it, I think. Mrs. Ambrose looks expensive.”
    â€œBut worth it, one must suppose,” said Enders, cutting Rothewell a sidelong glance, “if one does not mind her being a little long in the tooth.”
    The comte laughed, but nervously. Rothewell had lifted his gaze to Enders’s face. “I hope, sir, that you did not mean your remarks as the insults they sounded,” he said quietly. “I should hate to leave this game early merely to meet you again at dawn under far less hospitable circumstances.”
    Enders stiffened. “I beg your pardon, then,” he said. “Your aim—and your temper—precede you, Rothewell. But unlike yourself, Mrs. Ambrose is not new to Town. We have all known her for years. Myself, I simply prefer the women I bed to be younger.”
    â€œ Mais oui, much, much younger, if what one hears is true,” Valigny chortled. “Still in the schoolroom with the hair in braids, eh? But what of it? Many men have such tastes.”
    Enders was a stout, middle-aged widower with thick lips and even thicker fingers. Rothewell had detested him on sight, and time was doing nothing to alter that opinion. He particularly did not care for the turn the conversation was taking.
    Enders was still staring at the comte, his gaze dark. “With enough money, a man can usually get what he wants, Valigny,” he said. “You of all people should know that.”
    Valigny laughed again, but this time, there was an edge to it.
    Rothewell finished the hand with a near-miraculous win; one which was to be followed by several more. But the conversation had left a sour taste in his mouth.
    It was a little late in life, however, to be suddenly plagued by scruples. What business was it of his whom Enders fucked, or what Valigny thought of it? He was the last man on earth who should be pointing fingers. Still, it did bother him. And there was no denying Enders had a reputation for perversions of all manner.
    The comte and Enders were still squabbling.
    â€œGentlemen, lesh not quarrel,” said Sir Ralph, who was now dipping deep enough to be in charity with all mankind. “Youth in a chap’s bed is all very well, aye? But at present, a rish woman should suit me even better. My purse has taken a proper thrashing.”
    â€œWell, good luck to you,” said Enders sourly. “You may trust me when I say rich brides are a bit thin on the ground this time of year.”
    â€œ Oui , there is nothing so comforting as a rich wife, eh?” The comte leaned intently forward. “This topic, you see, has been much on my mind of late. But you are already a married man, Sir Ralph, are you not? And you, too, Mr. Calvert?”
    Both men agreed. “ Tant pis, ” said the comte, his expression a little gloomy. “But you, Enders, had no luck at your marriage mart this season?”
    â€œThere were poor girls and eyesores aplenty,” Enders grumbled. “Always are. But the young girls with money are spiteful little bitches.”
    The comte flashed a wry smile. “ Oui, life can be so very hard, can it not, my friend?” he said. “Ah, well! Play on, messieurs !”
    But Rothewell was seized by the sudden impulse to simply leave his pile of money and walk out. Wealth had never mattered much to him—and of late it had mattered even less. He wanted, strangely, to go home.
    And yet he knew once he got there and began to pace the floors of that vast, empty place, the disquiet would soon drive him into the streets again. To go anywhere. To do anything. Anything which might drown out those devils of the night.
    He motioned for Valigny’s footman to refill his