Reason to Wed (The Distinguished Rogues Book 7) Read Online Free PDF Page A

alone. “Forgive me, my lord. I had no idea you’d retired for the night.”
    Windermere scowled. “Oswin, do get out. I sent you to bed, not to replace my valet.”
    The butler cast a curious glance at Esme before he all but ran from his master’s presence.
    Windermere pursed his lips momentarily and then laughed. “There. Any suggestion you were disappointed by Meriwether will vanish for good. By morning the talk of the house party will be of a certain fetching lady who was seen gracing my bed. Isn’t that easy?”
    Esme leaped from the bed. “Then I shall see you tomorrow.”
    He caught her arm. “To be convincing, you’d have to stay a bit longer. I do have a reputation as an eager lover to protect, too.”
    She stilled. He did have a point, and Lord Windermere should not come out of this arrangement with his reputation besmirched yet again. They would both benefit if she stayed a little longer. “That is true.”
    His grip loosened and he teased the inside of her arm with a soft caress, setting gooseflesh sweeping over her skin.
    Eventually his hand fell away, his expression growing speculative. Esme was almost certain he hadn’t wanted to release her. Yet, becoming intimately involved with Lord Windermere was a ridiculous idea. She did appreciate his help tonight, but there was a limit to what she’d do for revenge. And if they were intimate, Windermere would be unbearably smug afterward.
    She climbed back onto the bed and raised her hands to her hair to remove a pin that had grown uncomfortable. After further consideration, she removed all of them to let her hair tumble down her back and shook out her blonde locks. “Emerging from your bedchamber in a completely disheveled state, and needing my maid to set me to rights again, would be better than appearing barely ruffled too. If we are to perpetuate a lie, the rumors of our time together as lovers might as well be exceptional. Tell me about the paintings.”
    “My sister is the artist.” Windermere held out a hand and, bemused, she dropped the pins into his palm. He strolled toward the mantle and placed them there, then shrugged out of his evening jacket. “As you can see, she’s recently found a way to decorate without giving me movable objects to damage, and simply paints on the walls.”
    “This must have taken some time.” Esme admired the extraordinary work around them. “Your sister is very clever.”
    “Don’t tell her,” he warned with a laugh, dropping his jacket to the floor in a careless heap. “She’ll want to paint the rest of the estate the same way and I like being the recipient of unique gifts.”
    Esme fell back on the mattress and wriggled, ensuring her gown would be suitably rumpled at the back. If this were her bedchamber, she’d have Jillian paint lovely clouds on the ceiling with a cherub or two peeking from behind each one. “Of course you do. Always thinking of yourself first and foremost.”
    “Not always,” Windermere murmured in a low, deep voice that sent alarming sensations racing over her skin. The next moment, he flung himself on the bed at her side. “The project kept her busy during her mourning, but I don’t want her to spend her life here, hiding from being hurt again.”
    She turned her face to his. “She’ll embrace her life when she’s ready.”
    His blue eyes softened. “Is that what you did when Heathcote passed?”
    She grimaced and looked up again. “Heathcote and I were strangers long before then, so I…went through the motions for the sake of appearances.”
    “I had a feeling you’d say that,” Windermere murmured, capturing her hand and squeezing. “He wasn’t a warm man, was he?”
    “To his mistress he was.” She winced again. Sometimes the pain of her husband’s betrayal caught her by surprise, as it did now. “I prefer not to think about him if you don’t mind.”
    “Of course,” he murmured, then filled the next hour with harmless chatter about the party, their mutual