The Wicked Widow Meets Her Match A Regency Rogues Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

her running, and hopefully out of the Kingsmen’s reach. “I never cared for it, either.”

    “And you believe he is telling the truth?”
    Langdon contemplated Henry Prescott, Viscount Carmichael’s question as he surveyed the comfortablefurnishings of the library in the Young Corinthians Club. He and Carmichael occupied two leather chairs set against the west wall. Ribbons of fragrant cigar smoke hung heavily in the air, enwreathing pairs and small groups of men as they discussed the day’s news or, more likely, Corinthian business.
    The club was comprised of agents and non-agents alike, but all men valued their privacy, making the premises ideal for such conversation.
    “I do not have a choice, do I?” Langdon finally replied, all too aware of the frustration revealed in his tone. “I apologize, Carmichael. I am not myself these days.”
    Lord Carmichael took a slow sip of his brandy and swallowed, his keen gaze fixed on Langdon. “I would have to agree with you. But tell me, is it the Kingsmen, Stonecliffe? Or are other concerns troubling you?”
    Lord Carmichael had known Langdon since he was a boy. He and Langdon’s father had been dear friends and part of a closely knit group of families that included Sophia’s parents. There was not a chance Carmichael misunderstood Langdon’s statement, which meant he’d purposefully brought up the topic of Sophia.
    “The Kingsmen, of course,” Langdon said shortly, tamping down his frustration. “Surely you are as anxious as I am to move forward with the case. And Topper’s information is all we have.”
    “I do wonder, though, if it is possible to separate the two—that is, the Kingsmen from Sophia.” Carmichael took a second measured sip of the amber-colored liquid. His sharp gaze pinned Langdon.
    Langdon stared at the man. He blinked, his mind racing to adjust. He couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. Carmichael’s careful and painfully precise lectures to the men he led were the stuff of legend.
    A legend Langdon could never have dreamt he would be written into. He’d always had the ability to spot those agents who’d one day find themselves staring across a desk at Carmichael. Their transgressions were varied and too many to count. Arrogance. Impatience. An inability to listen. A refusal to follow certain rules. What the sins all had in common was their ability to endanger both the men committing them and their fellow agents.
    And Langdon fell prey to not one. It was not bravado nor competitiveness that drove him. But honor. And a strict moral code. The other men had often referred to him as the model Corinthian.
    And now? he wondered, as he struggled to look his mentor in the eyes. What drives you? Now that you’ve reaped the bleak rewards of an honorable life?
    He knew he should appreciate the older man’s interest, but he could muster nothing more than embarrassment. “I promise you, Carmichael, I am as committed as ever—no, that is wrong,” he amended grimly. “I am more committed than ever to finding Lady Afton’s killer. Of that you can be sure.”
    “Is that the wisest course of action, Stonecliffe?” Carmichael asked, finishing his drink. “Even if Sophia was not the love of your life—”
    “With all due respect, Carmichael, I do not think you are in any position to suggest that I did not loveSophia,” Langdon interrupted, his clipped words revealing more than he would have preferred.
    Carmichael held his glass aloft to signal a waiting servant. “You are absolutely correct, Stonecliffe.” He paused while the liveried footman took the glass from his hand and departed. “Though I did not say you did not love Sophia. What I suggested was that you were not in love with her. Two very different things.”
    “Is there a difference?” Langdon challenged, straightening his blasted cravat, which refused to lay as it should. “And even if there is, what is done is done. There is no denying …”
    Carmichael’s questions had