The Rebel's Promise Read Online Free PDF Page B

death. Mrs Glover, whenever the subject was mentioned, would purse her lips and say that no good ever came of trying to cultivate a wild flower.
    Sir Clive, unbeknownst to most of his acquaintance, was fighting an on-going battle with his twin addictions of gambling and prostitution. Systematically gaming and whoring away a respectable fortune had brought him to the point where the acquisition of a wealthy wife was not only a means of adding to his comfort and consequence. It was also an absolute necessity. The protection of the legacy of respectability, bequeathed to him by his esteemed father, had recently become something of an obsession with him.
    Sir Clive considered the matter of his marriage dispassionately. There were at least three young ladies of his acquaintance who would make better housewives than Miss Delacourt. None of the others, however, affected him in the way that Rosie did. He did not dream of their pretty lips and laughing eyes. Not once had he cast even one of the other ladies a sidelong glance and pictured himself releasing her soft bosom from the confines of her gown. The fact that Rosie had a flash of spirit only added spice to his desire. He would know how to bring the independent Miss Delacourt to her knees … and the very thought made him breathe a little harder. The marriage bed would be the place to extinguish some of that fire of hers, and – by God – she would see the world differently on the following morn! No, Sir Clive had made up his mind that Rosie Delacourt must become ‘my Lady Sheridan’ so that his obsessive, but amazingly pleasant, fantasies about her could be made reality.
    It helped that Mr Delacourt was by far the wealthiest gentleman in the neighbourhood and it was well known that his daughter would have a generous dowry and an enviable inheritance. It was unfortunate that she had a younger brother, who would inherit the bulk of the estate. But the lad was only twelve and anything might happen between now and the attainment of his majority. Sir Clive almost licked his lips at the thought of the bounty that would enhance both his coffers – and his bed – when Rosie became his. It was in just such a state of pleasurable anticipation that he was admitted into The Grange by Mrs Glover. She told him that Mr Delacourt was shut up in his study but that Miss Rosie and Mister Jack were in the parlour. Sir Clive’s brows drew together at the mention of the hitherto unknown visitor, but he waved the housekeeper aside, assuring her that he knew his way.
    The parlour door was open and he heard Rosie’s laughter as he approached. She was seated at a small table and was engaged in a game of chess with a man – presumably the ‘Mister Jack’ Mrs Glover referred to – who had his back to the door. Rosie was holding one of her opponent’s chess pieces in her hand and he was admonishing her, in a softly spoken, cultured voice, to stop cheating and return it immediately.
    Rosie promptly responded by smiling tauntingly before placing the piece inside her bodice. Sir Clive, appalled at such wanton behaviour, decided he would not yet make his presence known. Instead he watched from one side of the doorway as, oblivious, it seemed, to anything else, they confronted each other. Rosie got to her feet and danced away from the table, casting a roguish look over her shoulder as she did. The man rose too and Sir Clive noted with dismay the grace with which he carried himself, the sinewy strength apparent even in the ill-fitting clothes he wore. A glimpse of finely chiselled, aristocratic features made the covert observer’s heart sink further. The stranger followed Rosie, who allowed herself – without much effort, Sir Clive noted angrily – to be cornered in the window embrasure.
    “Rosie, you little wretch!” Sir Clive bristled at the familiarity his words betrayed, as the man placed a hand against the wall either side of her shoulders, effectively encircling and imprisoning her. Rosie