The Rake Read Online Free PDF

shouldn’t mention this, but you might want to be careful. Blakeford is insanely jealous of the wench. Between Stella and the money he lost, he seemed on the verge of calling you out.”
    â€œRight. You shouldn’t mention it,” Reggie said tiredly, his eyelids at half-mast and the invisible band across his temples aching acutely. Why did it have to be Blakeford, of all people? He was a brooding, unpredictable sort, and Reggie avoided him when possible. “If Blakeford is going to issue a challenge every time that tart waves her muff at someone, he’ll have to fight every man in London.”
    Julian gave a nod of acknowledgment. “After we left Blakeford’s, we went to that new gaming hell off Piccadilly.”
    â€œWe did?” Reggie’s eyes came fully open as he tried to remember that part of the evening, but he drew a complete blank. “Did anything noteworthy happen?”
    â€œI lost a hundred pounds, and you got into a fight.”
    â€œWonderful,” Reggie muttered. “With whom, why, and who won?”
    â€œAlbert Hanley. Said you were cheating,” Julian said succinctly. “You won, of course.”
    â€œHanley said what?” Reggie jerked upright too abruptly, and his head went spinning. Swallowing bile, he slouched down again. “No wonder we fought.” In most ways Reggie had a terrible reputation, much of it richly deserved, but in sporting circles his honesty was never questioned.
    â€œYou did such a good job of putting him in his place that a challenge was unnecessary,” Julian said enthusiastically. “It was quite a mill. Hanley outweighs you by two stone, and he has good science, but he never laid a fist on you. It took only a couple of minutes for you to break his jaw. Everyone agreed he should pay for the wrecked furniture, since his accusation was quite unfounded.”
    â€œDid Hanley agree?”
    â€œDon’t know. With his broken jaw, we couldn’t understand a word he said.”
    Reggie inspected his scraped and bruised knuckles. “If I defeated him so thoroughly, why do I feel as if a horse kicked me in the ribs?”
    â€œBecause you fell down the steps when Mac and I were hauling you upstairs,” Julian explained. “You ended by smashing into the newel post. I was worried at first, but Mac said you weren’t permanently damaged.”
    â€œIs there anything else I should know?” Reggie asked in a dangerously gentle tone.
    â€œWell ...” Julian cleared his throat uncomfortably. “We saw m’father at Watier’s, and he gave you the cut direct.”
    Reggie shrugged. “No need to look so guilty. He always gives me the cut direct.”
    Lord Markham was convinced that Reggie was leading his heir down the road to perdition. Ironically, it was Reggie who had taught the lad how to safely navigate London’s more dangerous amusements. He’d even rescued him from an adventuress called the Wanton Widow, who had decided that Julian was the perfect answer to her financial problems.
    No matter. Reggie had used his influence for Julian’s sake, not because he expected gratitude from his young friend’s father.
    Julian returned to the safer topic of the fight, but Reggie stopped listening. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands as profound depression engulfed him.
    The worst deeds of a disgraceful life had always been done when he was drinking, but at least he had always been aware of his actions. He had deliberately chosen to live in defiance of normal social strictures, and had willingly accepted the consequences. That had been fine, until the year before, when the memory losses had begun. With every month that passed, the lapses came more often and lasted longer.
    Now he could no longer be sure what he had done or why, and that lack of control terrified him. The obvious answer was to drink less, so he had resolved to