Patricia Rice Read Online Free PDF

visit to Christina’s father today had been a last act of desperation.
    As a younger son, he’d never been responsible for anyone or anything except himself. Suddenly, he was responsible for every relative that ever crawled in off the family tree. He’d no idea he had great-great-aunts still living in Northumberland or third cousins relying on the estate’s allowance in Cornwall.
    He couldn’t order a pair of boot soles without a bootmaker producing a bill from the estate and demanding its payment.
    And because he’d felt guilty as hell asking for Christina’s hand for her dowry, he’d agreed to her father’s monstrous suggestion—that if he could not keep his wife in the manner to which she was accustomed, he had to return Christina to her family.
    If he couldn’t pay off the mortgage, he could lose his wife as well as his estate. He’d been more angry and ashamed at the marquess’s demand than Christina’s, if truth be told.
    Slamming his hat on his head, Harry grabbed his walking stick to beat off the rabble at his door and strode out to set about his next unpleasant task—doubly unpleasant given Christina’s ultimatum.
    He’d had every intention of paying off his mistress before he married. He took wedding vows seriously, and under the circumstances, he damned well couldn’t afford Melissa any longer.
    When he’d gone to the marquess to claim his betrothed’s dowry, he’d had some thought that at least Christina would be an enchanting bride who would soothe his physical needs and comfort his aching soul in his time of trouble.
    Instead, he’d confronted a romantic child demanding that he love her before she’d act as his wife. He had to assume that meant she refused to share his bed. Well, he’d see about that. He’d known Christina a long time. She was a capricious little thing. All the rest of the world might be out of his control, but Christina would come around soon enough.
    Meanwhile, he’d have to give up the woman who had taught him all he knew about sex. He couldn’t imagine it would be a pleasant parting.
    He couldn’t imagine anything pleasant happening ever again. The rest of his life stretched out before him in a long hard road of duty.
    ***
    Wincing as another valuable vase smashed against the door he’d just closed behind him, Harry decided he needed a few more stiff drinks and the company of sympathetic comrades to ease his last lonely night of bachelorhood. Staggering from the quantity of brandy he had consumed while listening to his mistress’s wails, he directed his steps down the familiar path to his club.
    Maybe he should have accepted Melissa’s pleas for him to spend the night, but it had seemed disloyal to Christina. Remembering his betrothed’s look of shock this morning, he figured he’d been a little hard on her. He hadn’t expected her refusal. He’d had some strange idea that Christina was different from the common run of women and would be sympathetic to his needs.
    Of course, he hadn’t explained his needs. He couldn’t begin to admit the humiliation of bankruptcy.
    The instant Harry walked through the door of his club, he regretted it. He could swear they’d all been waiting for him. Cheers rang out and glasses were raised as he entered the lounge, and someone pressed a drink into his hand.
    Freddie, Viscount Sinclair, shouted for a toast. “To the next sacrifice to family and title, may his freedom pass on to us for many more years!”
    “You want me to drink to that?” Harry muttered, but he needed the brandy and lifted the glass to his lips for a good gulp.
    “Aren’t you afraid she’ll cosh you over the head with a broomstick if you stray, Harry?” some wit in the back of the room called.
    He didn’t even question how word of his impending marriage had carried around London so swiftly. Servants tattled, and it wasn’t as if one could hide wedding preparations. He simply wasn’t in a humor to hear jests about Christina or her family of