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

came to his senses.
    He’d been enraptured. Done his level best not to let anyone see it. For he was in no position to marry a near-penniless debutante, not when he couldn’t afford his own obligations. And his reputation! A man sullied by his experiences didn’t subject a proper young lady to his past.
    She wasn’t the first sweet miss to catch his eye, it was true. Innocent flirtations were all the more enthralling because his needs were met by the wealthy, amorous women who kept him sated. All he required from pretty lasses like Lucy was their admiration, and perhaps a waltz or two.
    But he’d bedded Lucy. Without meaning to. Without even knowing it was she. Yes, he’d been aroused and disconsolate and a little drunk—embarrassments, not excuses. It didn’t justify his shock to discover the masked courtesan beside him wasn’t one of his compatriots after all. That the naked woman lying beside him was Lucy, in all her proud, determined not to marry him glory.
    He hadn’t meant to ruin her. He certainly hadn’t meant to tup her. Night after night of watching her from afar had taken its toll. The fact that he had indeed wanted the dark-haired lightskirt to be her, that he’d chosen the raven-haired courtesan precisely because she looked like Lucy, well.
    It didn’t seem to matter to Lucy one bit.
    By the time Mr. Banks returned, Roman was up to his cravat in the black mood that had plagued him all summer. Feeling like an idiot. Furious at her deception. At a loss to explain why she’d twice turned his proposal of marriage down flat, without even allowing him to finish. She’d never intended to accept him, so why the devil had she lain with him?
    The shopkeeper placed a bombazine square on the counter before laying a pair of ivory kid gloves out for his inspection. The contrast between the near-whiteness of the leather and the sinful bombazine showed the gloves to their best advantage.
    “Mr. Banks,” Roman said, forcing himself to sound jovial, “you are aware no man worth envying wears kid gloves these days.”
    Mr. Banks’ cheery eyes crinkled at the corners. He leaned in as if they were about to share a secret. “Ah, but that is only because you are not wearing them.”
    Roman chuckled and stroked the impossibly soft-looking leather with one finger. Perfection. And likely only a few quid more than the ones he’d been considering. “Very well, I’ll give Brummell something to scoff at. Let’s see if your esteem of me is warranted.”
    Mr. Banks nodded, still smiling. “Very good, my lord. I’ll bundle these and you can take them with you. How about a new fob? Did you see one that interested you?”
    The dozen strips of leather and embroidered scraps were arrayed becomingly on a velvet bed. He didn’t need a new fob, but then… They were very pretty. He was like a crow drawn to shiny objects. The more expensive the item, the more he felt the need to have it.
    Lucy’s admonition rang in his ears, spoiling his improved mood. He pushed away from the counter. “I wouldn’t want anything to compete with this masterpiece of men’s wear.” He held up the gloves. “Brummell has the right of it: simple is more elegant.”
    He didn’t for a moment think he was fooling his sometimes-haberdasher. The man knew as well as anyone how tight Roman’s credit was.
    Without needing to be told, Mr. Banks would quietly forward the charge to one of the women who were known to pay Roman’s bills. It was an arrangement Roman preferred not to discuss. Only the generosity of his female friends allowed him to stay neck and neck with Brummell, another man barely a step ahead of his creditors.
    Roman accepted the package without asking what ungodly sum he’d just added to his debts. He did have one thing to say to Mr. Banks, however. “Remind your son to study in earnest. Had I learned more at Cambridge than how to perfect a knot, I might exert influence over more than the state of men’s haberdashery.”
    “I’ll