The Carriagemaker's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

held his gaze, giving him a slow smile that Charles felt down to his toes. Damn the woman, anyway. He certainly had no intention of taking up where they had left off before she became the Marchioness of Luton. No matter how tempting it might be.
    “Lord Quentin,” purred Lady Sinclair. “Do join us.”
    From Celia, in her current state, the invitation sounded more like a threat. Charles smiled blandly and poured himself a glass of whatever wine was closest to hand. In truth, he should be damning the drink rather than the marchioness. Celia could be volatile and jealousy incarnate–but she was no tramp. Indeed, since her marriage to his close friend Jonathan, Charles had seen a more vulnerable side to the marchioness, and watched as a touching loyalty grew toward her sometimes difficult husband.
    Was her loyalty returned?  Jonathan loved his second wife, Charles was sure, but recently–with the estate taking so much more of his time–it had seemed a cool, absent-minded sort of affection. Which was typical of Jonathan’s nature, to be sure, but hardly of Celia’s.
    Perhaps it was the lack of fervor in her husband’s approach that had driven her back to the wine, and to this distracted prowling for men. Perhaps Celia was still convinced she didn’t quite deserve her good fortune . . .
    Celia had been the young widow of an obscure baronet when she married Jonathan Sinclair, himself a widower with two children. It had been a whirlwind, tempestuous romance–the talk of London society that season, and Celia the subject of much acid comment from disappointed mamas.
    A shockingly forward, penniless baroness!  And the Sinclair fortune–oh, my dear, it’s too much to endure.
    The new Lady Sinclair had a certain reputation to overcome, as well–at least in certain quarters. Lord Quentin knew, as did a fair percentage of the gentlemen of the ton , that the marchioness had not entered into her present marriage without first enjoying what several of the more vigorous London bucks had to offer. Charles, to some current regret, had been one of them. Returning from three years of war, the stench of blood, gunpowder, and Spanish dust not yet erased from his mind, he had been ready for a taste of the first ripe peach to fall from the tree.
    And Celia had been at her glorious, sensual best that London season. They had enjoyed a number of... encounters together, and even now Lord Quentin had flashes of memory that left his heart pounding and his mouth dry. He wondered how the marquess had survived the past year and a half. Celia was a tigress.
    “Charles, I’m becoming quite vexed with you,” said Celia, pouting that he had not joined them. “Do you know, Lord Burgess, that Lord Quentin once refused to dance with me at the Duke of Lincolnshire’s ball?”
    “Surely not,” said Lord Burgess.
    “ ’Tis true. He insisted that Jonathan have the second waltz, even when everyone
    knows–”
    As Celia prattled on, Miss Blankenship caught his eye and sent him a wink. Impudent chit! thought Charles, but he couldn’t help a small smile. Lucinda Blankenship was near to a hoyden, and since she had become engaged to Lord Netherfield–
    “Charles, old man. I hear you’re on your way to Tavelstoke within the sennight,” said Lord Burgess, interrupting his thoughts.
    Charles heard Celia’s sharp intake of breath.
    “Indeed,” he replied. “My father’s recent illness left affairs unsettled at the estate, and the steward has requested my assistance.”
    “But surely that can wait until after the holidays,” said the marchioness, her eyes glittering, her lips set in a rosebud pout. “And Tavelstoke is so close–you could be there inside of the day.”
    “I’m afraid not, my lady,” said Charles. “But if all goes well, I should be able to return shortly after Christmas.”
    “After Christmas–!  But Charles!” began Lady Sinclair.
    “Now, don’t fret, my love,” said the marquess, joining the conversation. Lord