Scandal's Reward Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Unaccountably, it has occurred to no one to scream, Miss Hunter. Perhaps the family do not wish any witnesses? Or,” he looked straight at George, “perhaps they do not wish me to meet certain members of the staff?”
    Catherine stood her ground. “Perhaps they are simply embarrassed by childish games. It is already distressful enough for Lady Montagu to have a nephew whose name is used to frighten children in the village, without having the pearls removed from around her neck in her own drawing room. Not having any such scruples myself, of course, I could very well cry out for help.”
    “And I do not frighten you, Miss Hunter? A brave young lady! I am, according to my own cousin, my companion from childhood, a scoundrel and a blackguard. Each member of the household has given me some token of their wealth. Since you are determined to be included in this family scene, is there nothing you can contribute to my venality? Nothing I can steal from you?”
    Catherine hated the way she knew the color was rising in her cheeks as he walked slowly toward her. The sea-green gaze swept over her simple frock in the most insolent manner. For no good reason Annie’s silly words kept running through her mind, ‘He’s had tons of lovers,’ and Amy stating with such confidence, ‘It was because of his reputation with the ladies that they called him Devil Dagonet.’
    He shall neither charm nor frighten me, she promised herself. He shall not. I shall scream if he comes a step closer. Yet her breathing was already shattered, out of control.
    He thrust the pistol in his belt, stopped directly in front of her, and reached long fingers to her cheek. He brushed a stray wisp of hair from her neck and touched tenderly below her ear. She was desperately aware of the soft pressure of his fingers and of his clean, masculine scent: plain soap, and the outdoors, with perhaps the faintest hint of brandy.
    “A lock of hair, perhaps?”
    She met his gaze defiantly. There was something so magnetic and powerful about him! “I do not give you any such permission, sir.”
    “But I must not disappoint our audience,” he said. “After all, I have my reputation to live up to. Since you refuse me the gift of your hair, Miss Hunter, I shall have to steal a kiss.”
    Surely she could have cried out for the servants then, but she felt stunned into silence. For in the depths of his eyes she saw the last expression she would have expected: neither anger nor malice, only a rueful laughter, ruthlessly buried. Helpless with astonishment, Catherine lost all sense of where she was: the candlelit room, its scandalized occupants, all disappeared from consciousness as unwittingly she gave herself up to his embrace.
    He tilted her head and his fine lips closed over hers. An aching sensitivity inflamed her blood. Her tongue tasted honey, tender and sweet. Strange delight flooded through her body: a terrible, wonderful anguish—like the gift of an angel!
    Moments later he kissed her throat tenderly, then murmured against her ear.
    “I apologize for not being sucked down in Rye Combe Bog as you directed. It did display scurrilous manners not to instantly die so, after treating you so cavalierly. Though it’s no excuse, I was rather preoccupied and, of course, I’ve known the track perfectly well since childhood. I hope you’ll forgive me, Miss Hunter, but please don’t call the servants. I don’t want to have to slay any of the footmen.”
    He pulled away and crossed the room. No one had moved. They stood like pawns awaiting the hand of the chess master. Catherine felt bereft, her heart thundering.
    Dagonet laughed aloud. “I thank you all for your contributions.” Turning to Catherine, he swept her a bow, then sat on the windowsill, folding the ladies’ gems and his cousin’s diamond pin and fob watch into his pocket handkerchief.
    “Damn you, Dagonet! What do you intend to do with the jewels?” It was Sir George, his face suffused with anger.
    “Why,