Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF

be stuck with her until the war ended.
    A muffled sound from somewhere within the great house caught her brush in midstroke. The hairs at the nape of her neck stood on end. Ever since she’d arrived home that evening she’d had a strange sense that something was wrong, a sense of something sinister in the quiet night. She caught sight of her frightened expression in the mirror and shook her head. Doubtless the noise was caused by a servant who’d bumped into a wall or door on the way to the water closet. It was far too early for her father to return home.
    The brush began its long strokes again, her expression wary now as she listened for any other unusual noises. But it wasn’t a noise that sent a shiver of dread down her spine. It was the mirror’s reflection of her bedroom’s door handle as the brass lever moved ever so slowly. Her heart leapt to her throat as the door opened noiselessly from its frame in agonizingly slow degrees.
    Her father was home early. He always checked on her when he returned from his club. She should just call out and let him know she was awake. Instead she sat frozen to her seat, trembling like a leaf. The flames of the candles that flanked her vanity flickered in the draft, as if to warn her of the intruder. Her eyes remained locked on the reflection of the door, watching it open just a crack, then wider, wider still, the dark hall shrouding whoever stood there. The clock over the mantel that she hadn’t noticed just moments earlier began to tick so loudly that the sound filled the room, drowning out even the loud beats of her heart as it pounded against her chest.
    The mirror reflected a man as he stepped into the doorway and Lily sighed in relief. His green-and-gold-trimmed livery announced his place among the Earl of Crofford’s servants, but the sight of his face trapped the sigh in her throat. It was not a face at all, but a strange Oriental mask, the painted features twisted into a hideous caricature of a smile. A low, menacing laugh came from the depths of the mask as he stalked toward her. Lily opened her mouth and screamed in terror.
    It was nearly two in the morning when Remmington left his club in the company of his friend Harry, Viscount Gordon. While they waited near White’s cloakroom for their coats and hats, Harry asked for a ride home.
    “If it wouldn’t be an inconvenience,” he amended, his boyish face lit by a winning smile. “Afraid my mother and sisters absconded with the family carriage to attend Ashland ‘s do.”
    “No inconvenience at all,” Remmington assured him. That wasn’t quite true, but he wasn’t entirely certain that Harry could afford the blunt for a hired carriage. Harry’s father left behind a mountain of debt when he died last winter. Like many in his situation, Harry’s only hope lay in the time-honored tradition of marriage to an heiress. Surprisingly, Harry seemed in no hurry to repair the family fortunes.
    “Heard an interesting bit of gossip tonight.” Harry draped his greatcoat over his shoulders. “Rumor has it that you singled out Lady Lillian Walters for a waltz.”
    Remmington frowned. Lily Walters was the last thing he wanted to be reminded of at the moment. She’d haunted his thoughts all night. Before he could answer the unspoken question, two more patrons approached the cloakroom. Both were friends of Harry’s, anxious to relate stories of their success at the gaming tables that night. Nodding a brief greeting to the two young gentlemen, he told Harry, “I’ll wait for you outside.”
    Remmington made his way to the club’s entrance and gave a silent signal to the doorman that ordered his carriage to be brought around. A liveried servant hurried down one of the side streets where carriages that belonged to the club’s patrons were lined up to await their owners. It would take a good quarter hour for his driver to maneuver through the clogged side streets. Remmington propped his foot on a nearby bench and withdrew a