The Art of Ruining a Rake Read Online Free PDF Page A

to a thunderhead inside her. She hated when he called her Lucy-love. She hated more that he appeared genuinely perplexed. He’d wronged her. He ought to remember it. “It is the very fact of your not knowing that causes me to doubt your sincerity.”
    He stepped forward. Sunlight glinted off him in little golden deceptions, flashing from his brass buttons, his watch fob, his sapphire signet ring. More lies, for he was as impoverished as she. “Is it because you believe there have been others? My Innocents, as they’re called. Perjurers, the lot of them. I’ve despoiled no one but you.”
    Oh, he was bold to attempt such a blatant falsehood. Hundreds of women had set their cap at him. Dozens more had found their way into his bed.
    “You were chaste, then?” she shot back. “I was your first?”
    He blinked. “Certainly not.”
    His surprisingly honest reply drove into her heart like the letter knife. “Your constancy, then,” she needled him. “You were devoted to my memory these last months while you pined for my company?”
    His lips thinned. “No.”
    She flinched though this admission, too, was only the truth. “Can you doubt my answer then?”
    His black look spoke volumes.
    Good. He deserved to feel put out.
    She stood taller and looked down her nose at the scoundrel standing in her office. It was time for him to leave. She needed to collect the shattered pieces of her life and reassemble them into an acceptable solution before she was turned out on the street, forced to slink back to her brother’s house for lack of option. She could hardly be expected to concentrate on anything if Roman Alexander was standing there looking daggers at her.
    “Your coat likely cost what your home farm turns over in a year,” she said, indicating to his blue superfine coat, “yet you purchased it anyway. Your creditors chase you from London to Devon and back again. You’re charming, gifted with a silver tongue, and spoiled. If you want to marry, find a woman who appreciates your many fine qualities. I do not.”
    His nostrils flared. He drew himself up to his full height, more than a foot above hers. “ Miss Lancester . I came here to prove something to myself, and it has been proved. I cannot break your heart as you broke mine, because you have no heart.” He bowed curtly at the waist without waiting for her response. “I bid you good day.”
    With that astounding speech, he left her.
    Alone.

Chapter 2

    ROMAN ALEXANDER, the eldest of five brothers and thereby the marquis of Montborne through no intention of his own, crossed the cobbled street in several long strides and merged onto Bath’s main thoroughfare. He didn’t stop until Miss Lancester’s whitewashed school disappeared behind a tree, then a low wall, then a ring of market stalls.
    He still didn’t stop. He seethed . If he had a carriage at his disposal, he’d return to London straightaway. Put as much distance between himself and Miss Lancester as he could before he made the mistake of trying to win her adoration a third disastrous time.
    He stormed up one street and down another. Up, down. Up, down. Always keeping her little school at a safe distance. He liked to walk. It cleared his head. Why, he was already feeling less horrified at having been caught en dishabille with her. It wasn’t going to be the first time he was accused of defiling an innocent, but he hadn’t misled her.
    This was the first time it was actually true.
    For all that was holy, he hadn’t meant to ruin her. Confound it, man, this day hadn’t gone as planned at all.
    He clamped one hand on the brim of his beaver hat. Tried to tug it low enough to hide his dishonor. He should have stayed in London with his miserable blue devils instead of going through the effort and expense of hiring a carriage and coming here. Had he really thought he could change her mind? When he’d known in his heart she didn’t give a fig for him?
    You like abject misery, she’d said. As if he