Taming an Impossible Rogue Read Online Free PDF Page A

I sit while reading, then? One arm above my head and my toes turned in?”
    Evidently she wasn’t quite as fragile as she looked. “I meant that to be a compliment. Shall I turn around and begin again?”
    Her sunrise blue eyes assessed him. “You don’t look much like your cousin. I daresay if you hadn’t told me of your relationship, I never would have known.”
    “In all honesty,” he returned, moving close enough to lift the book from her lap and examine the title, “I heard that you didn’t get much of a look at my cousin.” Hm. Pride and Prejudice. So she had a romantic bent. That was good to know, though he wasn’t certain how it would help him in swaying her back toward Fenton, the cold fish.
    Her cheeks darkened. “I agreed to speak with you here because you asked me a question that no one had ever posed to me before. If you mean to insult or bully me, Mr. Blackwood, know that you’re not the first. Nor are you anyone whose opinion matters to me in the least. Clearly I was mistaken in thinking you might be someone with whom I could … commiserate.” Snatching her book out of his hands, she stood and marched back toward the large manor.
    Damnation. Seeing his ten thousand quid stomping away, Keating went after her. Clearly he needed a different approach—and quickly. He put a hand on her shoulder. “My lady, I didn’t m—”
    She whipped around and slammed the book into the side of his head. “Leave me alone!” she snapped, and trudged away.
    If Keating had never been hit before, the thwack might have stopped him. Considering that he still bore the remains of a black eye from a gargantuan bruiser nicknamed Bully Tom, he simply strode forward to block her escape. “Nicely done,” he said, tasting blood from a cut lip. “What question did I ask you?”
    “I—you—get out of my way.”
    “Answer my question. About the question.”
    Camille Pryce took a deep breath. If he hadn’t been behaving, he would have noted the fine form of her bosom, but he kept his gaze firmly on her face. He also kept his weight balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to dodge if she swung the book again.
    “You asked me what Fenton had done to drive me away.” She narrowed her eyes, her jaw clenched. “You didn’t ask what was wrong with me to leave a wealthy, titled gentleman standing in the church. I thought that was … refreshing. But now you’ve ruined it, and I’m finished speaking with you. Do not come back to The Tantalus Club.”
    “I scratched at old wounds, you mean.” God, even as he spoke the words he realized how familiar they sounded. “I apologize. I have developed a tendency to strike first.” He rubbed his fingers against his jaw. “You returned fire quite adequately,” he continued, grinning. “Might we consider this a draw and begin again?”
    “We’ve been conversing for five minutes, and that’s the second time you’ve asked for a second chance. How many am I supposed to tolerate?” Camille folded her arms across her chest, lifting her chin to gaze up at him.
    That did stop him for a moment. He had the strangest sensation, not for the first time, that he might have been conversing with himself. Second chances . How many was one man allowed to have? Surely he’d surpassed that number some time ago, whatever it was. Time, then, to stop backpedaling and do it correctly the first time.
    “This is the last one,” he said, realizing that he spoke the absolute truth. He had one thing— one thing —to manage. Because the assignment Fenton had given him wasn’t a second chance. It was his last chance.
    She gazed at him for several hard beats of his heart, while he rolled his thoughts around what he would do if she continued into the club. “I have a question for you,” she finally said.
    Anger and frustration curled into him, and just as swiftly he pushed them both away. No, he didn’t like interrogations, but he could tolerate a damned question or two. Camille Pryce was not