The Ruin Of A Rogue Read Online Free PDF

hope so. I am so eager to read it so we can talk about our impressions.”
    His poise restored after the ridiculous attack of sentiment, he smiled winningly. He trusted that when she struggled through Mr. Warner’s dry prose she’d think of Marcus sacrificing his boots so she could enjoy it.

 
    Chapter 4

    L ord Algernon Tiverton took his punctilious leave from Lady Windermere’s drawing room, allowing Anne and Cynthia to succumb to the giggles they’d repressed during an endless fifteen-minute morning call. The younger son of a marquess, he’d been introduced to Anne by his aunt Lady Ashfield.
    “He can barely restrain his passion,” Cynthia cried dramatically.
    “Hah! His only passion is for his own ancestry. Like every other man in London he looks at me and sees gold, and not interesting Roman gold artifacts. Just piles of dull modern guineas.”
    “The man’s a fool if he fails to see what you are really like.”
    Anne looked affectionately at her loyal—and deluded—friend. Cynthia was a pretty woman with delicate features in a heart-shaped face. Fair hair fell in a cascade of curls from a deceptively casual knot. Without extraordinary elegance, she made the most of her small, rounded figure. Even in a morning dress of light worsted over an impeccable pleated chemisette and ruffled collar, Anne judged her alluring. Her own appearance was much less satisfactory. Clad in a heavy gray twill, designed for winter in the freezing corridors of Camber, she looked dowdy. There was nothing she could do about an angular body and a small bosom, but a skilled dressmaker could work wonders.
    “Do you want to go shopping?” she said.
    “If you mean Hatchard’s,” Cynthia said warily, “I’ll let you go alone and visit the furniture warehouse instead.” Cynthia spent an inordinate amount of time and money on both furnishings and her wardrobe.
    “I need a new gown or two, for the winter.”
    “My dearest Anne! What has brought about this miraculous reversal of habit? No, don’t tell me. I can guess. You have fallen in love with Lord Algernon! Fear not. Clinging skirts and a revealing bodice will penetrate his aloofness and he will sweep you into his arms and carry you off to whatever country fastness he occupies to live happily ever after.”
    “A garment such as you describe would more likely send him scurrying out of town, alone.”
    “An excellent result, but I don’t think that’s the real reason for your unprecedented interest in fashion.” Cynthia gave her a hard look. Further interrogation was forestalled by the appearance of servants delivering the post.
    Anne tore open a missive from the Duchess of Castleton. Cynthia, evincing little interest in her own correspondence, fiddled with the arrangement of white hothouse roses that filled a large Meissen vase on the mantelpiece. “What do you think, Anne? Do they look better this way?”
    Anne glanced over the top of the letter. “Yes.”
    “Or maybe with less of the maidenhair. I’m not sure I like it.”
    “Definitely.”
    “You aren’t paying attention.”
    “White roses are always pretty and I detest maidenhair. Why did you buy it?”
    “Denford sent them. To celebrate becoming my next-door neighbor. He takes up residence at Fortescue House today.”
    Lady Windermere’s air of disinterest was unconvincing. Anne couldn’t ignore the opening, despite an innate reluctance to interfere in the affairs of others.
    “Caro isn’t pleased to hear that the duke is back in London and paying you marked attentions.”
    “Pish. Caro always worries about me and Denford.”
    “Listen to what she writes. I do not trust Julian’s motives in pursuing Cynthia and I fear for her tender heart. She is less worldly than she likes to appear. ”
    “I know what I’m doing.” Cynthia finished removing the despised fern and stepped back to regard the flowers with a satisfied smile. “Denford and my husband are at odds. I don’t know why and I don’t greatly