Not Quite Married Read Online Free PDF Page B

he wanted her to see.
    What was his true nature? What were his true feelings about the marriage? About her ? What sort of deal had her father struck with the marquis and his handsome son?
    She had asked to see the betrothal documents and learn the terms of her marriage settlement, but her father had dismissed her curiosity as unwomanly and declared that the language of the legal documents was convoluted and would mean nothing to her.
    Then he had stared at her in a way that shamed and dismissed her once again for displaying unfeminine interests. Now, however, that curiosity had a foothold in reason and an urgency that would not be denied.
    Snatching up a candlestick, she stirred the banked coals in the hearth and lighted the wick. The hall outside her door was dark and quiet. She slipped out and tiptoed down the corridor to the top of the great stairs, where she was stopped by a dim glow coming from the salon and the sight of a single candle burning on the center-hall table. It was customary for the butler to leave a candle burning for her father to use to see his way to his chambers after working late in his study. She bent over the railing and scowled, searching the rear of the center hall for light coming down the corridor from her father’s study. It seemed dark and she looked back to the light coming from the salon. Perhaps he and Raoul were having a final drink before retiring . . .
    celebrating the success of the evening. If so, the study would be empty and she would have time to search her father’s desk for the marriage documents.
    Gathering her courage, she extinguished her candle, clasped her dressing gown a bit tighter around her, and tiptoed down the stairs. Her heart beat faster as she rounded the newel post at the bottom of the steps and hurried toward the rear of the entry hall and the corridor leading to the study. The door was pushed together but not fully closed. Just as she was reaching for the handle, she heard the sound of the terrace door opening and closing inside the study. A gust of wind pushed the door open half an inch and she was horrified to find herself standing in a small slice of light.
    She darted to the side and flattened herself against the wall beside the open door. Light and voices—the study wasn’t empty!
    She glanced down the corridor toward the darkened stairs, hoping she could get back to her rooms without being detected. But the sound of male voices kept her from moving . . . one higher but clearly male, the other deep and resonant, instantly familiar.
    Raoul. With his brother Louis? Surely not; the thin male voice sounded English as it wafted through the opening at the edge of the door.
    “Raoul, you dog, I don’t know how you do it. You’re a cat—always landing on your feet. Give you a disaster and you turn it into a triumph. Great brandy, by the way.”
    Raoul’s baritone was easily understandable. “I do my best.”
    There was arrogance in his tone, unleashed by her father’s potent brandy. “What do you think of the place?”
    “It suits you.”

    “Don’t be an ass, Cornelius. It’s a heap. Refurbishing it would cost a fortune, and in the end all I would have is a refurbished heap. I intend to pull it down and begin again.”
    The other man gave a low whistle. “That’ll cost a pretty penny.”
    Raoul laughed. “Have you not heard? I am now an extremely wealthy man.”
    His companion gave a grunt of amusement. “So, the terms were generous.”
    “The old man is desperate for a grandchild. By the time my dear father was through with him, he’d promised me everything but his wigs and gout-plasters.”
    “Well, he’s chosen the right man for the job. Lord knows you’ve left offspring in your wake wherever you’ve gone. Still, I never thought to see the stud of Paris married and settled in the country with a pack of squalling brats.”
    “Producing offspring only requires that I be present for the planting . . . not the harvest.” When Brien put her eye