The Devil Is a Marquess (Rescued from Ruin Book 4) Read Online Free PDF

people. She sighed. If he hoped to hide, he would need a potted plant the size of this room.
    “Charlotte!” Aunt Fanny cried from behind her as though they had not seen one another as recently as breakfast. Charlotte spun to see her aunt, Lady Farrington. She was a pleasant, mild woman who greatly resembled Charlotte’s late mother, willowy and long with coloring more moonlight than sunlight. Charlotte never feared forgetting her mother because Aunt Fanny was nearly her twin. “Miss Darling was sharing the most amusing tale.”
    Penelope, whose horse-like features compared poorly with her cousin’s, laughed her goose laugh and waved a hand dismissively. “Lady Farrington is too kind. I was simply reporting what I witnessed this morning as Viola and I returned home from a bit of shopping.” She leaned closer, the pearls laced through her curly coif bouncing comically against her ear. “You have heard of the unfortunate circumstances that have befallen Lady Rutherford since Lord Rutherford’s death, of course.” Penelope paused as though expecting a response. Charlotte hmm’d, but only to force the girl to continue. She did know, but not because she wished to. Honestly, the carnivorous glee of the ton was the thing she would miss least about London.
    “Well, as our carriage passed Rutherford House, we saw her standing upon the bed of a worker’s wagon, gathering up her possessions by the armful. One of the men attempted to reason with her, but she was adamant that they were thieves for taking her furnishings. There she was, standing in a wagon”—she honked out a giggle—“in a pink gown, clutching a vase as though it were a babe. I have never seen such a thing.”
    Charlotte did not laugh. She frowned. “What became of her?”
    “Oh! You know, I’m not certain. Viola said she saw Lord Rutherford—the new one, of course—leaving the house moments later, but our carriage had turned onto another street before I could get a proper look.”
    The new Lord Rutherford. Well, Lady Rutherford would receive no help from that quarter. Benedict Chatham, formerly Viscount Chatham, was a reprobate, a rake, a walking scandal. He was as likely to assist his mother as Charlotte was to marry a Prussian prince.
    “Rutherford,” huffed Uncle Frederick, a sour expression on his face. “Bad lot, that.”
    Charlotte half-smiled her agreement. Uncle Frederick’s signature talent was summing up a situation in as few words as possible.
    The new Marquess of Rutherford reportedly had inherited more than a title upon his father’s death. Rumors had been swirling for months that, because of his father’s debts, he’d been forced to sell every unentailed property and possession. Naturally, the ton had relished the downfall of Benedict Chatham, who had spent his life flouting society’s rules and marinating in drink and debauchery.
    Charlotte recalled seeing him only last winter, when they’d both been in London and he had still been Lord Chatham. Standing casually in front of a white marble sea god, the dark-haired devil had stared at her across his mother’s ballroom. His hooded turquoise gaze had seized her in one long, internal clench and sent heated chills across her skin. Until that moment, she had not understood why so many women cooed and sighed at the mere mention of his name. To her, he represented the worst of English society—an entitled lord born to privilege and radiating sardonic boredom. She had not altered her opinion. However, his attractiveness was no longer a mystery.
    Behind her, she felt gloved hands flatten against the sides of her arms, tapping a delicate warning. “Do not move, Charlotte,” a familiar, feminine voice murmured. “Or he shall see me.”
    Charlotte twisted, attempting to see the owner of the voice. “Viola?”
    “Shh. He has been avoiding me all evening,” Viola Darling whispered, apparently using Charlotte as her own potted plant. “I wish to catch him by surprise.”
    Bemused,