The Rake's Midnight Lady Read Online Free PDF Page A

retrieving her hand. ‘She has a penchant for fat lapdogs of quite amazing ugliness.’
    Lady Embery raised an eyebrow at this, startled to hear a chit of a girl speak so to such a notable personage but Hanwood found his lips twitching at the remark. Obviously the country cousin was prepared to go on the offensive. He was intrigued and looked forward to a private conversation with her, his eagerness fanned by the memory of how soft her lips had felt against his own, a memory that had stayed with him all week, haunting his waking hours and a disturbing number of sleeping ones as well. He was determined to discover the reason she had been in his library. Indeed, he was determined to discover every detail of the girl’s life! Introductions made, he was now permitted to address her freely but things had not gone as he had hoped for Abigail had remained as elusive as water.
    He had approached her to dance but she’d rebuffed him with her dance card. ‘Unfortunately I am already engaged. My Lord Bassingthwaite? Shall we?’ And Bassingthwaite, who had been mooning around Abigail all night, had fallen over his feet to oblige.
    It was, Hanwood reflected, infuriating. To make matters worse, he had no idea what he actually wanted to say to her when he did manage to find her alone. Kicking his heels was not an agreeable pass-time and he was inclined to consign the infuriating Miss Margate to the devil and go home. It was not as if he wanted for company; it had been some time since he had visited Lady Langley… over a week, in fact. Rosie would be furious with him by now, quite possibly throwing half the contents of one of her stylish apartments at him. She was far more beautiful than the rustic little Abigail Margate and she was a sensible woman who would forgive him his neglect and eager to welcome him back to her bed...
    Hanwood stayed where he was and continued to regard his quarry with glittering dark eyes.

    Seeing Hanwood across the room had brought on a wave of faintness that had threatened to overwhelm her but Abbey had rallied as best she could. It was inevitable that she should meet him some time. At least she had formulated a plan for just such a contingency and it had worked rather better than she had ever imagined. Never had Abbey found the strictures of society to be so beneficial; she had managed to avoid any kind of conversation with Hanwood, although Lady Embrey’s introduction had been a small setback. Abbey generally did not dance every dance but tonight she had set out to beguile as many partners as she could and the result had been a full dance card and a pair of aching feet.
    Now she was hot and tired. She had stood up three times in the last half hour, doing her best to be civil to each of her partners who had been intent on making polite conversation whenever the intricate steps of the dance brought them together again. She wished they would not bother because she was not in the least bit interested, too preoccupied with her thoughts to do more than make the most cursory comments. She desperately wanted to go home and wondered if she could plead a headache and escape. But first she would have to find her aunt and make her excuses. Abbey sighed. A glass of lemonade would be welcome but that might necessitate falling foul of Hanwood and that she simply could not risk. It seemed inevitable that he had discovered the theft of Abbey’s letters – if indeed returning them to their author could be considered theft – and she dreaded what he might say to her.
    But it was more her deeds than her actions that made her squirm with inward shame, every time she looked at him. It was not so much that he had kissed her, more that the thought of those kisses still heated her through with a delicious pleasure that made her despair of herself. Hanwood might be exactly the kind of man she most disliked but she could not rid herself of the notion that he was exactly the kind of man she wanted most… It was far too