Our Wicked Mistake Read Online Free PDF Page A

but Michael thought it didn’t reflect a true indifference.
    “No,” Michael said mildly, “but yet you are here, en listing my aid on her behalf.”
    Luke tossed down his napkin and rose with his usual nonchalance. “Speaking of which, let me know when the journal is rescued and I will return it to its rightful owner. I’d promise to give you due credit, but I doubt Madeline would appreciate that I told you about it in the first place.”
    In his profession, credit was not advisable, so that was for the best. Michael elevated his brows. “I will be in touch.”
    “Thank you for breakfast.”
    “Of course.” He paused and said neutrally, “Did you really wager twenty thousand last night on one hand?”
    Luke lifted his brows in a sardonic arch. “Gossip trav els quickly as ever, I see.”
    “In our circles, most certainly. I knew by midnight.”
    “I’m not quite sure why I took Cayne’s challenge.”
    “I think I can take a guess.” They’d been together in Spain during the war, and as a result, their demons were not a secret to one another.
    “Don’t.” The single word was clipped. “I don’t need a father confessor, Michael, but I would appreciate that journal.”
    After his friend departed, Michael sat and stared thoughtfully at the doorway. He knew, of course, the beauteous Lady Brewer. Pale gold hair, exotic dark eyes, a body that any healthy male would appreciate, but she’d been devoted to her husband and withdrew from society for an unfashionably long time after his death. She was reputed to be uninterested in any type of attachment, casual or permanent.
    He had to admit he found it worthy of note that the lady turned to Luke for aid. He wasn’t aware they knew each other well, and certainly Luke had never as much as mentioned her in his presence. The only time he’d ever seen them even exchange a word was at their mu tual friend Joshua’s wedding to Lady Brewer’s cousin. Come to think of it, Michael mused as he leaned back in his chair, coffee in hand, at the time he remembered noticing the stilted chilliness in Madeline May’s voice when she greeted Luke. With his looks, fortune, and fac ile charm, most women fell at his feet.
    Or into his bed.
    But Luke said she was not one of his lovers, and she certainly did not have a reputation as a woman who in dulged in casual liaisons. Luke didn’t believe in any other kind, so it was probably the truth. All that taken into consideration, they didn’t make likely friends either.
    It was interesting but immaterial to the problem at hand. Michael finished his coffee and left the breakfast room for his study.
    He needed to send a message. He had connections that could handle this sticky little matter with ease. Ei ther Antonia or Lawrence would take care of it quickly and discreetly.
     
    He was never indecisive, and it irritated him when, with his hand lifted to knock, Luke dropped it and consid ered leaving. Logically it made perfect sense if after the events of last evening, he called to see how Madeline was feeling and to tell her he hoped to have her hus band’s journal returned to her soon. But there was a certain part of him that reminded him Lady Brewer was dangerous to his peace of mind.
    He didn’t have to see her. A brief letter would do.
    Had the door not opened he might have remained there on her front step, waffling like a nervous adoles cent for God alone knew how long, but it did open and Madeline herself appeared, a startled look on her face as she saw him standing right there. “Oh. Lord Altea.”
    It slammed into him. He should have sent the letter.
    The sunny day, the busy street, the neat bricked steps, any possible watching eyes . . . it all faded away. This morning she wore a soft lemon yellow day gown with short, ruffled sleeves and lace shirred underneath the bodice, which drew the eyes to the curve of those full, firm breasts. Her shining hair was pinned back, and in her hand she had a reticule, which made sense, for