Something Sinful Read Online Free PDF

delayed a moment before removing her arm from his loose grip. “What I plan for the silks is my own business, and certainly none of yours. And since I don’t believe you’ve offered me anything I want,” she returned in the same low voice, “I’ll tell you good day once again. But do keep in mind that any negotiations are to be conducted with me—not my father. Unless you can’t match wits with a female.” She went to the door, and the butler practically fell into the room as she opened it.
    It wasn’t wits he wanted to match with her, but something much more physical and intimate. “Very well.” Charlemagne shoved away his more heated thoughts in favor of a few that might leave him some dignity, and went into the hallway to collect his hat and gloves. “I hope you don’t think this is over, Lady Sarala,” he said, facing her again as the butler opened the front door. “I want my silks back.” Unable to resist, he lowered his gaze once more to her sensuous mouth. “But I do have something you may want in return. We’ll merely have to discover what that something might be.”
    Before she could reply, he left to collect Jaunty. This was one negotiation he had no intention of losing.

    Selfish, arrogant man. A day later, and her mind still refused to let go of her conversation with Charlemagne Griffin. If any mistakes or errors had been made, they were his. All that nonsense about the silks being his was just that—nonsense. Thank goodness she’d seen him ride up the drive after luncheon yesterday and had intercepted Blankman before the butler could tell her father that someone had come calling. That would have been a true disaster, especially with a half-dozen gossiping ladies of her mother’s acquaintance eating sandwiches in the drawing room, as they were again today. And thank goodness they hadn’t seen her running through the house in her dressing gown before she’d made it back to her bedchamber.
    “My lady?”
    Sarala shook herself. “I think I’ll wear that one tonight,” she said to her maid, indicating the deep blue gown her maid held in her left hand. “With the silver barrettes.”
    “But my lady, the marchioness told me specifically that you was only to wear the gowns made since you’ve been in London. She said the others were too outdated, and some of ’em not even in the English style. All those was to go to the rag and bone man.”
    Sarala took a deep breath. Perhaps she’d encouraged the seamstresses in Delhi to stray a bit toward the native style, but she’d been raised to appreciate it, after all. Perhaps the blue gown had a snugger waist and lower neckline than the gowns she’d acquired in London, but there was nothing wrong with it. And it was not outdated. The red one she’d worn night before last had been of a similar style, and that man had seemed to appreciate it.
    Of course that particular gentleman would probably never speak to her again. All she could hope for at this juncture was that he was too much of a gentleman to cut her in public. Just the idea that he could ruin her for besting him in a business venture was patently unfair; that he would actually do so, unthinkable.
    Still, best be a little cautious tonight, just in case. With a grimace she flicked her fingers toward the pale peach gown her mother had particularly liked. “The blue one goes back in the wardrobe—not to the rag and bone man.”
    Jenny curtsied. “Yes, my lady. And you’ll be splendid in the peach. I’ll go press it.”
    Splendid and perfectly, properly British. Yes, she’d also been raised British, but the most fun she’d had in India had been when she’d managed to steal away from home for an outing with some of her native friends. Her mother made sense, insisting that she fit in here now, but Sarala didn’t particularly like being in this wretched, rainy place to begin with. If she needed an example to prove it, the thing she most looked forward to was another encounter with Lord