Sins of a Virgin Read Online Free PDF Page B

park last week. He’s charming, if a bit cold.”
    “Cold in what way?”
    She could hardly explain that she’d noticed how his hands tensed whenever someone touched him. Or that he always positioned himself in the dominant position in any conversation. “Does it matter? My main concern is that he has money.”
    Huntford leaned back in his seat, somehow failing to appear any more relaxed. “So it doesn’t matter if you like the man who wins?”
    She’d never expected to. The government had been assigning her to seduce men since she was fourteen. Any romantic notions she might have once held were long dead. “What matters is that they think I like them.”
    “You see no issue with the deception?”
    “Don’t act so offended. Half the world pretends. Doesn’t an heiress become more desirable the larger her dowry? Dukes have more admirers than their character and wit warrant. A modiste always swears the most expensive fabric looks the best. In my case, I’ll make the winner think the fortune he paid for me was a bargain. We both win.”
    Huntford frowned. “You have a disturbing ability to make your justifications seem valid.”
    “Is that a compliment?” she asked.
    “No.”
    But that pleased her even more. Flattery was meaningless; accusations seldom were.
    The carriage slowed as they approached the tree-lined roads of Hyde Park.
    “What do you know of Lenton?” Huntford asked.
    “Quite a bit. He—” A familiar round face rode toward them. “See for yourself.”
    As she beckoned, she tilted her head and parted her lips. While ensuring her body was artfully arranged on the cushions, she peeled off her gloves, baring even more flesh. By the time Viscount Lenton reined in his spirited bay gelding, she was ready.
    A grin split his cherubic face and he doffed his hat with a wide sweep of his arm. “My fair Miss Valdan, it’s been far too long since you allowed me to escort you to Vauxhall. Your beauty is like the first daffodil in spring.”
    Drat, Canterbury won. She’d laid her money that the first compliment would compare her to the sun. Madeline extended her hand, and Lenton brought it to his lips for a lingering caress. Then he froze, his wet lips like two lethargic slugs. With an uncomfortable cough, he jerked upright. The sudden motion provoked the gelding to snort and yank against his bit.
    Lenton kept a wary eye on Huntford as he calmed the skittish animal. “I say, you’re that Runner, aren’t you?”
    Huntford inclined his head. “Gabriel Huntford.”
    “You’re the one who caught the Chetfeld killer?”
    “Indeed.”
    “What ever happened to him?”
    “I sent him to the devil with a noose around his neck.”
    A chill trickled down her spine. But she had nothing to fear. He wasn’t investigating her. She simply shouldn’t wear such low-cut gowns in April.
    Madeline allowed Lenton to process Huntford’s less than cordial expression before redirecting his attention back to her. “Enough about him.” She gave a dismissive wave in Huntford’s direction.
    The flicker of her hand spooked the horse.
    With a grunt and pull on the reins, Lenton again settled the bay.
    She widened her eyes. “Is that magnificent creature one of Cooing Dove’s line?” It was, unless her sources failed her.
    “Got him at Tattersall’s last week. I outbid Barton for him.” His eyes roved over her with renewed interest. “Not many women recognize prime horseflesh when they see it.”
    Such a high-strung animal wasn’t fit for a country lane, let alone the streets of London, but she trailed her gaze deliberately over the viscount. “I make it a point to take note of all fine flesh—horse or”—she paused, drawing her hand along the edge of her bodice—“human.”
    Although Lenton’s gaze locked on her fingers with feverish intensity, it was another set of eyes from across the carriage that intruded on her senses, snagging her breath in her throat and tightening her breasts.
    Her hand froze for less