The Birthday Scandal Read Online Free PDF Page A

know when I might be back in the city.”
    “Why? Are you anxious to get back to your friends, or afraid your ladybird will find another protector while you’re gone?”
    “Not a ladybird.” But Lucien said it with a mischievous smile.
    “You needn’t think I care,” Emily sniffed. “All men are alike. You and your mistresses—”
    Belatedly, Lucien recalled what had happened to Emily last year, and sobered. “Not the same thing,” he said hastily. “Even if I did have a ladybird, it would be nothing like what Rivington was up to.” He eyed her carefully. Emily didn’t look as though she was still suffering—in fact she appeared to be blooming. But you never knew, where ladies were concerned.
    “That’s a comfort—for despite you being an annoyance, Lucien, I should not like to see you end up as Rivington did.”
    Lucien took another cake, more because he didn’t know what else to say than because he was hungry. Appetite had fled with the reminder of Emily’s ill-fated betrothal.
    Emily had moved to the window that overlooked a corner of the great courtyard and the valley beyond. “Are we expecting anyone else?”
    “I don’t think so,” Isabel said. “Uncle Josiah is hardly in any condition to plan a gala for his birthday. Why?”
    “Because here’s another carriage pulling up.”
    Lucien joined her, his cake forgotten. “Another post-chaise? I wonder who…By Jove, what a bang-up job that is!”
    The curricle of his dreams stood by the front door. The vehicle was perfect, right down to the colors he had envisioned—deep green with black accents. Though now that he saw the combination for himself, Lucien decided he might have had the wheels picked out in gold instead.
    The driver had already climbed down, for a groom was holding the tired horses, ready to lead them around to the stable.
    Had Uncle Josiah read his mind and ordered this setup for him? What a wonderful birthday-gift-in-reverse that would be!
    Emily jabbed him in the ribs. “You do realize you’re drooling, Lucien?”
    The drawing room door opened to admit the butler. “Lady Maxwell, the Marquess of Athstone has arrived.” He faded away, leaving a gentleman standing on the threshold.
    The pieces fell into place in Lucien’s mind. You should have expected him to turn up .
    Envy surged from the back corner of his mind, swamping his better nature. The heir of the Duke of Weybridge could afford the best—or, more accurately, he didn’t need money, for he would have no lack of credit with which to buy curricles and horses.
    Lucien told himself to be sensible. It wasn’t as if the new Marquess of Athstone had pushed him out of a title or an estate; since Weybridge Castle belonged to Lucien’s mother’s family, it would never have come to him even if this chap had not been born.
    Besides, Uncle Josiah had said Lucien was his favorite. No American upstart—a mere twig on some far distant branch of the family tree—was going to come between an uncle and the nephew he loved.
    Lucien realized—just as the marquess’s gaze came to rest on him with something like astonishment—his momentary irritation and envy had caused his hand to clench hard on the cake he held, turning it into paste that oozed through his fingers and dripped down the front of his coat.
     

     
    Isabel had tried her best not to even look at her husband. Instead she had concentrated on pouring tea and then chatting with Emily. But no matter how hard she tried to exclude him, the Earl of Maxwell was not to be ignored; he asked Emily about her journey, and he politely requested a report from Isabel on their mutual friends. The moment Emily left the drawing room to fetch Lucien, Isabel turned to glare at him.
    That was a mistake. He was just as handsome as he had ever been, tall and lean and dark, and so perfectly turned out that he seemed to have just stepped from his tailor’s hands. But there was an edge about him now that she’d never seen—a glint of danger