Ten Things I Love About You Read Online Free PDF

need something more than that.”
    Seb quirked a brow.
    “You seem rather annoyed with the tenuousness of your position,” Edward explained.
    Sebastian considered that. “No, not annoyed. But I will go so far as mildly aggravated.”
    Edward picked up the newspaper, and they fell into a companionable silence. Sebastian stared across the room and out the window. His eyesight had always been excellent, and he could see the pretty ladies promenading on the other side of the street. He watched for a while, happily thinking about nothing of import. Azure blue seemed to be the fashionable color this season. A good choice; it looked well on most people. He wasn’t so sure about the skirts; they seemed a bit stiffer and more conical. Attractive, yes, but much more difficult for the man with an eye toward raising them.
    “Tea,” Edward called out, breaking into Sebastian’s thoughts. A maid deposited the tray on the table between them, and for a moment they just stared at it, two big men with big hands, staring at the dainty teapot.
    “Where is our dear Olivia when we need her?” Sebastian said.
    Edward grinned. “I shall be sure to tell her that you value her for her pouring skills.”
    “It is quite possibly the most logical reason to get oneself a wife.” Sebastian leaned forward and examined the tray, looking for the small jug of milk. “Do you want some?”
    Edward shook his head.
    Sebastian splashed some milk into his cup and then decided he needed the tea far too much to wait for it to steep properly. He poured, inhaling the aroma as it steamed through the air. It was remarkable how far it went toward settling his stomach.
    Maybe he should go to India. Land of promise. Land of tea.
    He took a sip, the heat rolling down his throat to his belly. It was perfect, just perfect. “Have you ever thought about going to India?” he asked Edward.
    Edward looked up with only slightly raised brows. It was an abrupt change of topic, but then again, he was far too used to Sebastian to be overly startled. “No,” he said. “Too hot.”
    Seb considered that. “I expect you’re right.”
    “And the malaria,” Edward added. “I met a man with malaria once.” He shuddered. “You wouldn’t want it.”
    Sebastian had seen his share of malaria while fighting with the 18th Hussars in Portugal and Spain.
You wouldn’t want it
seemed a spectacular understatement.
    Besides, it would be difficult to continue his clandestine writing career from abroad. His first novel,
Miss Sainsbury and the Mysterious Colonel,
had been a smashing success. So much so that Sebastian had gone on to write
Miss Davenport and the Dark Marquis, Miss Truesdale and the Silent Gentleman,
and the biggest best seller of them all—
Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.
    All published pseudonymously, of course. If it got out that he was writing gothic novels …
    He thought about this for a moment. What
would
happen if it got out? The starchier members of society would cut him, but that seemed more of a boon than anything else. The rest of the
ton
would find it delicious. He’d be fêted for weeks.
    But there would be questions. And people asking him to write
their
stories. It would be so tedious.
    He liked having a secret. Even his family didn’t know. If anyone wondered where he got his funds, they’d never inquired about it. Harry probably assumed he got a stipend from his mother. And that he cadged his breakfast every day as a means of economization.
    Besides, Harry didn’t like his books. He was translating them into Russian (and was getting paid a fortune for it, possibly more than Sebastian got for writing the original in English), but he didn’t like them. He thought they were silly. He said so quite frequently. Sebastian didn’t have the heart to tell him that Sarah Gorely, author, was actually Sebastian Grey, cousin.
    It would make Harry feel so uncomfortable.
    Sebastian drank his tea and watched Edward read the newspaper. If he leaned forward,