Surrender To A Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF

main door and were greeted by other members on their way to the dining room. Choosing a table by the windows, they sat down, and Martin leaned backin a lazy sprawl with one arm draped over the back of his chair.
    “Ahh, smell that,” he said, exhaling deeply. “There is nothing in the world that can rival the aroma of hot chowder after a fast sail into the Solent.”
    “Unless it’s the smell of French perfume,” Spence said.
    Martin glanced over his shoulder at two of the old-time members of the club, who still refused to let the ladies inside the building. “Unfortunately, we won’t encounter anything quite so mouthwatering in here.”
    “There’s always the back lawn,” Spence replied.
    Just then, Sir Lyndon Wadsworth, a portly baronet in his fifties and commodore of the club, entered the room and cut a path straight to Martin’s table.
    “Well, if it isn’t the reigning champion,” he said, greeting Martin, who stood and shook his hand.
    “Good to see you, Sir Lyndon. You’ve got your hands full with preparations, I gather?”
    “Indeed, it never ends.”
    They exchanged light pleasantries, then Martin invited Lyndon to join him and Spence for lunch.
    A half hour later, after they’d all enjoyed steaming bowls of creamy chowder and crusty bread, Sir Lyndon leaned back, folded his hands over hisround belly, and eyed Martin intently. “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned a word about the Endeavor ,” he said with a sly grin.
    Martin regarded him with equal scrutiny. “Isn’t that Lord Breckinridge’s new sloop?”
    “Indeed it is.” Lyndon leaned closer and spoke in a hushed tone, spurring Martin and Spence to lean forward as well. “Rumor has it, he took every farthing out of the family coffers to commission her. She’s quite an extraordinary vessel, they say.”
    “Extraordinary.” Martin inclined his head. “How so?”
    After considering the question for a moment, Sir Lyndon shrugged. “She has a unique, inspired design. A number of people seem to think she’s going to take the trophy this year.”
    Martin sat back and tapped a finger on the table. Take the trophy? How had he not heard of this? He prided himself in having a keen ear to the ground for everything nautical, yet he knew nothing of this Endeavor.
    “Is the earl here yet?” he asked.
    “As a matter of fact,” Lyndon replied, “he just arrived this morning, and it appears he’s in pursuit of two shiny gold trophies this week.”
    “There’s a second trophy?” Martin asked, leaning forward with interest, because he could rarely resist a challenge.
    “Yes, in the form of a wealthy widow staying atthe Royal Marine, and she arrived just yesterday with Breckinridge’s aunt and uncle. She’s just out of mourning for her father, who died and left her everything last year, and she’s outside on the lawn right now—evidently looking for a new husband.”
    Martin leaned back in his chair again because he was most definitely not looking to become one of those. “Who is she?” he asked.
    “Evelyn Wheaton,” Lyndon told them. “Unfailingly moralistic and virtuous, they say, and utterly impossible to flirt with.”
    Now there was a challenge if he ever heard one.
    “Who was her husband?” Spence asked.
    “A devout country vicar. The sorry chap dropped dead in the middle of a sermon, after only three months of wedded bliss. Apparently, the woman has been in mourning since ’89.”
    Martin expressed appropriate commiserations, of course, but very quickly redirected his thoughts to the Endeavor . What were the dimensions of her sail area, he wondered. And what of—
    “Is she a beauty?” Spence asked.
    Martin turned his gaze to his first mate. “Are you referring to the boat or the widow?”
    “The widow of course,” Spence replied, and Martin looked toward the door, suspecting that she might have extra lead in her keel.
    The Endeavor , not the widow.
    “Mrs. Wheaton doesn’t turn one’s head upon first