Tempted by a Lady’s Smile Read Online Free PDF

had changed—as was evidenced by the brandy even now in his hand and the thick plume of smoke from his previously lit cheroot.
    Since Eloise had married his younger brother…if one wanted to be truly precise. Now Richard quite enjoyed a good bottle of spirits and a turn at the gaming tables.
    In addition to drinking and wagering, it would seem he had also become the manner of man who say…taunted blushing young ladies and sent them fleeing in fright, and only after he’d kissed them senseless. His body stirred with the memory of the nameless schemer. Not a lady who’d ever be considered classically beautiful, or even really remotely pretty, that particular figure had occupied his thoughts since he’d returned to the duke’s estate.
    “How many points?”
    Richard swirled the contents of his drink as Westfield’s inquiry cut across his musings. Thrusting aside the memory of the young woman, Richard returned his focus to the billiards game. “Five hundred?”
    Westfield snorted. “You’ve no intention of leaving this room, then?”
    “I expect with the number of ladies seeking to corner and trap you, that would be preferable.” A garrulous miss with limp, brown hair flitted to his mind.
    A muscle jumped at the corner of Westfield’s eye. “My father’s blasted brilliant plan to see me wed.”
    Generally, matters of marriage and prospective brides were the manner of talk gentlemen took pains to avoid—unless they had to. And in Westfield’s case, with his father nearing the end of his life, it was a topic that could not be avoided. Not by a friend, at least.
    The crack of the cue ball resonated in the quiet room done in crimson and mahogany hues. Richard eyed his shot as it settled closest to the baulk. “I do not envy you your responsibility.” At one time, he’d fashioned himself as the marrying sort, but had come to appreciate the singular impossibility of finding the one person who owns your heart, and having that lady’s sentiments so closely align that it resulted in that forever love.
    His friend made a crude gesture that roused a laugh from Richard. Westfield motioned to him. “Your decision.”
    Richard picked up the red ball and placed it at the top of the table. Wordlessly, he walked a slow path about the table and then, positioning his cue, struck the red ball. The smooth force of the movement propelled it forward and the red ball knocked the other into a pocket. “Have you selected the lady who will be the future Marchioness of Westfield?”
    Westfield respotted the red ball at the top of the table in the black spot and positioned his cue. “My father certainly has an idea who the future Duchess of Somerset will be,” he muttered. He struck the cue ball and Richard’s ball, in a canon shot, which earned him two points.
    A pall descended over the room, and Richard collected his drink and took a slow swallow. Having suffered the loss of his own father, and also having a similarly close-knit family as Westfield’s, he knew the pain Westfield was surely in. Richard took his shot. “Who is the fortunate young lady, then?” he asked, infusing dry levity into his tone. For when presented with the topics of death and dying and a gentleman’s impending marital state, the latter was always safer.
    “The Duke of Wilkinson’s daughter.” He cast a wry glance at Richard. “Though I have no doubt, he’d have me wed any respectable young lady at this point.”
    Again, the spirited creature bolting through the duke’s property slipped into his mind.
    A knock sounded at the door and they looked as one as it opened, and a liveried servant stepped inside. The bewigged footman sketched a bow and then cleared his throat. He opened his mouth and then closed it, looking over to Richard.
    “You can speak freely,” Westfield said with a frown.
    The servant nodded. “My lord, His Grace has been seized by another fit.”
    In an uncharacteristic show of agitation, Westfield raked a hand through his hair.