The Betting Season (A Regency Season Book) Read Online Free PDF Page B

both the cup and the plate of biscuits. “I am sorry,” she said softly. “She’s not quite the same these days as she once was.”
    But his charming smile returned as did the flutters in Pippa’s belly. “Nothing for you to apologize for, sweetheart.” He took a sip of his tea and then sat forwards on the settee as she went to pour her own cup. “I am afraid my business might keep me occupied over the next few weeks, but I shall make every attempt to attend various functions if I can. Where are you headed this evening?”
    Pippa splashed tea into her cup and spun back around. “Vauxhall Gardens,” she said, meeting his eyes. “I cannot wait to see them. I’ve heard such delightful tales from my brothers.”
    “ Vauxhall Gardens?” His grin widened. “One way or another, I will find you there tonight.”
    Great-Aunt Eunice chose that moment to wake up fully and she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “Oh, is there tea?”

    Remaining at Berkswell House with a wide-awake chaperone was an abundant waste of time. Besides, it was slightly maddening to be so close to Pippa and have to keep his blasted hands to himself. So, Jason took his leave just as soon as he’d finished his tea and promised his lady he would see her soon.
    His lady ?
    When had he started to think of Pippa as his lady? Damn it all to Hell.
    One afternoon spent inside one respectable parlor and he was starting to think like…Heathfield. Reformed rake, extraordinaire. A shiver raced down Jason’s spine. He wasn’t ready to be like blasted Heathfield, hanging on his wife’s every word, casting one adoring glance after another at his lady, giving up his freedom for one woman.
    Was he?
    Certainly not.
    He was the wicked Earl of St. Austell
    He increased his stride towards his own home on Curzon Street and inwardly winced when he spotted Lord Harrison Casemore rounding the corner onto Upper Brook Street. All things considered, he was quite fortunate Miss Mills woke when she did and he’d made his escape, or Pippa’s most fearsome brother of the two would have found him inside Berkswell House. Some angel… Or devil, rather, must be looking out for him.
    Harrison Casemore’s eyes narrowed on Jason a split-second later, and even with the great distance between them, one could plainly see a vein twitch beside the man’s right eye. Casemore folded his pugilist’s arms across his broad chest and wore an expression one might expect to see in a painting of an avenging knight. “What,” the man demanded, “are you doing here?”
    Jason schooled his features to an expression of nonchalance, the one he’d worn all throughout his troublemaking days at Harrow and beyond. “Here? London, you mean? Or England? Or this hemisphere?”
    “ On Upper Brook Street,” the man ground out, stalking closer to Jason on the street. “Did you call on my sister?”
    Jason chuckled. “Why would I call on your sister?” he asked, instead of answering the question and touched his long-since-healed nose. “Berkswell made it very clear that I would not be welcome in your home. I assure you, I am not deaf.”
    “ Indeed? Then you’re here, why?”
    Again Jason chuckled. “I am out for a stroll, Casemore, not that I need to explain myself to you.”
    “ Oh—” Harrison Casemore halted before Jason, “—you have explaining to do, St. Austell. On that you can be sure.”
    “ Do I?” Jason drawled. “And here I thought I only had to answer to the King.”
    “ And to me.” The man’s brown eyes darkened to a devilish black. “I’m quite aware you accepted the challenge of Cleasby’s bet the other night at White’s. I assure you, I’m not deaf either.”
    Potsdon and his wide mouth, Jason was sure. “Then you should be equally aware that your friend is a drunkard, Casemore. His blatherings should be given the weight they are owed. Instead of threatening innocent gentlemen strolling the streets of Mayfair, you ought to be see about getting Potsdon weaned