Scandal of the Year Read Online Free PDF

He fought it, hating that she could still evoke with the touch of her hand what had already destroyed his honor and hurt his reputation, hating that she could move him like a chess piece, controlling in him what he could not seem to control in himself.
    “An unhappy marriage is hell, Aidan,” she said, her fingers curled around his shin. “I should know. Promise me you won’t do what I did.”
    He didn’t reply, for there was nothing to say. He was a duke, and he had a duty to marry, with love or without it. Slowly, he pulled away from her touch and went back inside without giving her the promise she’d asked for. He never made promises he wasn’t sure he could keep.
    It still hurt to see him, Julia realized as she watched him go, even seven months after that day in court. He hated her now. She couldn’t blame him, of course, but it hurt just the same.
    In the wake of his departure, his words lingered, echoing in the cool spring air.
    Yes, that’s me. Every girl’s dream.
    She’d heard the bitter, sarcastic tinge in those words, and that hurt, too. She leaned back, picturing him as he’d stood before her just moments ago, seeing again his splendid square jaw, the tawny glints in his dark brown hair, the wide set of his shoulders. She thought of his impeccably tailored black evening suit and snowy white linen shirt, remembering just what his body looked like without them—the chiseled muscles of his chest and abdomen, his tapered waist and long, strong legs. It was a body honed by the playing fields of Eton, the rowing oars of Oxford, and the tennis championships at St. Ives and Wimbledon, a body any woman ought to be able to appreciate and take pleasure in, but that day at her cottage she’d been unable to do so. Pleasure of that sort had long ago been stripped from her.
    That had nothing to do with Aidan. He was every girl’s dream even if he couldn’t see it. He was also a gentleman down to his bones, the sort who believed in the old school tie, playing the game, and always doing the right thing, no matter what it cost him. But he also had a bit of the devil in him, a darker side that wanted the forbidden. He’d always wanted her, and from their very first meeting thirteen years ago, she’d known it. When given the chance, she’d exploited that knowledge for her own purposes with perfect finesse.
    A female Iago.
    His description stung, but it was apt. If Shakespeare’s Iago could be played as a soul in hell, driven, dark, and desperate, willing to do anything, willing to use anyone, in order to escape from that hell, then yes, she had been Iago, the consummate manipulator, perfect in her part from start to finish.
    God help her.

Chapter Three
    T he moment Aidan returned to the ballroom, he realized he could not remain there. He could not smile, and request introductions, and dance with young ladies, not when desire for that woman was flooding through his body, along with a generous amount of anger and frustration. Nor could he simply go home. At this hour of the evening, the ball was an absolute crush. It would take him an hour just to have his carriage brought around.
    He crossed to the other side of the ballroom, ignoring any speculative glances he received along the way, and walked out, heading down the corridor to the card room. It was also a smoking room, but the haze of smoke seemed a tolerable option to him at present. He suspected even Lady Yardley wouldn’t have the brass to come into a bastion reserved exclusively for gentlemen. Besides, cards were an excellent diversion.
    He paused in the doorway, noting with a glance around that all the tables were fully occupied. He caught sight of the Duke of Scarborough on the other side of the room, lounging by the fireplace with a whiskey in his hand, and he made his way in that direction. The wild-eyed, disreputable Scarborough was as great a contrast to himself as could be imagined, but he made an excellent card partner.
    “Scarborough,” he greeted