Pretty Persuasion Read Online Free PDF Page A

a silent communication acknowledging their unspoken agreement to keep the past where it belonged: in the past.
    "Right," Tony said after a loaded moment. "I'll be off, then. I just recalled a previous engagement."
    Ah, yes. No doubt he had bottles to empty, skirts to chase, card tables to visit, and lives to jeopardize with reckless exploits; Tony was making the most of his leave of absence. Robert tamped down the urge to voice his disapproval. He had done little else the past two weeks, and his words always fell on deaf ears. Right now, there was another matter he needed to address. "Wait."
    "What?" Tony stood and grabbed the dark blue coat draped over his chair. Ready belligerence shone in his eyes, daring Robert to say the wrong thing.
    "What do you know of a fellow named Phillip? Tall, slim, fair hair. Dresses like one of Brummell's disciples."
    Tony drew on his coat, brows lowered in thought. "Nothing comes to mind. Except—it could be Rossemore."
    "Rossemore?" The name was unfamiliar.
    Tony gave a short nod. "Baron. Hails from Surrey. Excellent horseman. Why do you ask?" He shook his head. "Never mind; I don't care. I bid you a pleasant evening, gentlemen." He turned on his heel and quit the room, all but slamming the door.
    Cameron gazed after him with a frown. "And to think he was one of the chief reasons you were so eager to leave that infernal island. I swear, he was in jolly good spirits. Until you arrived."
    Robert blew out a sigh. The encounter with Georgie—the deceitful, far too pretty thing—and now dealing with his brother's surliness was giving him a headache. Perhaps he needed some strong drink after all. "I told you he's changed," he said as he got up and yanked on the bell pull. "He has my mother tied in knots, worrying about him."
    Cameron let out a noncommittal grunt, and they sat in silence until the butler arrived. Robert bid the man bring him a bottle of rum.
    His friend threw him a dry look. "Brought home some mementos, did you?"
    "Some habits are hard to break," Robert replied with a shrug. "I suppose I've developed a taste for it."
    Any trace of humor disappeared from Cameron's expression. "For what? Rum or self-inflicted torment?"
    Robert flinched at the stab of pain his friend's words caused. Cameron wanted him to forgive the unforgivable when all he wanted to do was forget. His butler returned with the bottle and glass. Desperate for some kind of relief, Robert half filled the glass, then emptied it in one swallow. He rarely tried to drown his sorrows—they always proved remarkably buoyant—but tonight, he'd make an exception.
    "So, who's this Rossemore fellow?"
    Robert refilled his glass. "Unless my brother guessed wrong, Rossemore is the man in whose arms I practically discovered my intended bride this afternoon."
    His friend whistled softly. "Not exactly the warm welcome you expected, eh?"
    "Not exactly…"
    "I suppose it's too much to hope she's ill-favored," Cameron mused with a sardonic smile, "or even the slightest bit bucktoothed."
    When Robert cast him a withering glare, he naturally took that as a cue to go on, saying, "A duke's daughter, if I remember correctly, so her breeding is impeccable, as are, no doubt, her manners. Her wits are sharp, but she does not make it a point to display them, and she's in possession of a sweet disposition that would make her husband the object of much envy. Did I forget anything? Oh, yes, her virtue is—well, I suppose there's little to commend her there, considering the circumstances."
    "Damn you, Cameron," Robert said, chuckling despite himself. "I was ready to launch into a lengthy list of my grievances, but now they'll only sound ridiculous."
    His friend gave a faint smirk. "They would have sounded absurd, in any event." His smile faded. "You don't seem too aggrieved. What, exactly, happened?"
    Robert summed up the afternoon's events as objectively as he could muster, and when he finished, Cameron was frowning in earnest. "Sounds like you're