One Touch of Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page B

you do? I was hoping Welham might care to comment upon his ascension to the family earldom. Our readers do so love to follow the intricate twists and turns of his life.”
    Lord Ruthveyn?
    Lord Ruthveyn. Lord Lazonby. Grace’s head was beginning to spin from it all, and she felt rather as if she’d been dropped into some bizarre theatrical production. Inthe last two days, her predictable life had turned into a nightmare, and now she was beginning to fear tripping over yet another corpse as she fled the stage, for Ruthveyn had seized the young man and was frog-marching him toward the door, a look of unadulterated malice etched upon his face. The lad was doomed—and he had come here for the same reason as Grace.
    â€œ Mon Dieu, is everyone in London looking for Welham?”
    Grace scarcely realized she’d muttered the words aloud until the young man twisted round to shoot her a look over his shoulder. “Jack Coldwater, ma’am, with the Morning Chronicle ,” he said, his eyes aglitter. “Know Welham, do you? Care to comment? Answer a few questions?”
    Ruthveyn jerked to a halt, then set his lips very near the young man’s ear. “You begin to try our collective patience, sir,” he said in a voice as still as death. “Go quietly, and let it be the end. For your sake.”
    The young man appeared undaunted. “All I’m saying, Ruthveyn, is that it is quite a coincidence Welham gets released from prison, and but a few months later, his father is dead. Wanted to ask him about it, that’s all. Does he blame the Government? Or himself? Or you ? The timing, you must admit, is poignant.”
    Suddenly, Ruthveyn seemed to explode—but in a cold, controlled sort of way. In an instant, he had slammed Coldwater around, fisted his hand in his coat, shoved him against the door, and hefted him six inches off the floor. And still the top of his head did not reach Ruthveyn’s.
    â€œ Poignant? ” Ruthveyn’s voice was dangerously soft. “I’ll give you poignant. I’ll throttle you here where you stand, you little shi—”
    â€œB-But I’m n-not standing,” the young man gargled, toes dangling. “Have done, Ruthveyn! I’m just doing my job.”
    â€œAnd your job is to hound an innocent man?” Ruthveyn returned. “To turn up every rock and stone in London to see what manner of filth slithers out, then print it?” He gave the man a sharp jerk. “Is that your job, Coldwater?”
    â€œMy job—” Here, the young man paused to swallow, “—is to ask hard questions.”
    â€œThen expect hard answers,” snarled Ruthveyn. “Let’s start with the answering side of my fist.”
    Grace must have made a sound. Ruthven cut a glance over his shoulder, then relented and let the man slither back down the door and onto his feet. Then he turned abruptly to seize Grace’s arm.
    â€œThrow him down the steps, Belkadi,” snapped Ruthveyn, practically hauling her up the wide marble staircase. “And don’t ever let him in again.”
    â€œCertainly.” Belkadi stepped briskly round the desk as if he’d been asked to dispense with a piece of baggage.
    â€œGood heavens,” said Grace, hastening to keep up with Ruthveyn.
    â€œI beg your pardon,” he said tightly. “I am not accustomed to a lady’s presence.”
    â€œNo, I meant—” Here, she cut a glance over the banister as Belkadi quite literally pitched Coldwater out—and rather effortlessly, for the fellow likely wouldn’t have weighed ten stone tarred and feathered and looked scarcely old enough to shave. Coldwater landed on his arse somewhere near the third step, his notebook flying, then staggered to his feet just as the door thumped shut behind him.
    Ruthveyn jerked her to a halt on the next step. “I beg your pardon,” he said again, his eyes still flashing