The Wickedest Lord Alive Read Online Free PDF Page A

drawing room? She’d lied to the people of Little Thurston since she arrived here at seventeen. Now, thanks to the Marquis of Steyne, her house of cards would come tumbling down about her.
    There seemed no way to prevent the marquis’s revealing the truth right then and there. She’d intended to break it to the vicar and all their friends upon her twenty-fifth birthday, but she didn’t want it to be like this.
    Rather than denounce her on the instant, the marquis simply scrutinized her with insolent thoroughness. He remained silent as a stone while Lord Lydgate—a distant cousin of his, she gathered—made elegant conversation.
    “I was just saying to Lady Chard what pleasant countryside you have here, Miss Allbright,” said Lydgate.
    Lizzie warmed to him, for this slice of Sussex was in no way remarkable. In fact, for her, its lack of attractions of any sort was the region’s greatest charm.
    She managed to reply, “I like it, certainly, but I fear there is little of interest here for the fashionable set. We live very quietly in Little Thurston.”
    “Aye, that we do,” said Lady Chard. “So if you young rapscallions have a notion of kicking up a dust here, you won’t be received kindly, mark my words.”
    Lydgate did his best to look wounded, but his blue eyes danced. “Lady Chard, you will give Miss Allbright an entirely false impression of us.”
    Steyne did not even bother to acknowledge their sallies. His cold, bright gaze fixed on Lizzie.
    Her cheeks heated, but she worked hard to appear oblivious of his piercing stare. Steyne made no attempt to demolish her assumed identity, so she tried to relax and respond while Lord Lydgate gently steered the conversation.
    “Is that a smut on your nose, gel?” demanded Lady Chard, breaking in rudely upon Lord Lydgate’s discourse. She leaned toward Lizzie for a better look.
    Oh, plague it! Lizzie’s hand flew to her face. She rubbed at her nose with her fingertips, flushing with the fire of humiliation. Trust her to meet her husband again after all this time when she looked like a slattern.
    “Hmph.” Lady Chard’s shrewd old eyes continued to survey her. “And your hair’s all anyhow. You’ve been sweeping and scrubbing over at the Minchins’, I dare swear. In my day, we gave them alms and that was the end of it.”
    Any money that came the Minchins’ way would be spent in the taproom at the local inn, as well Lady Chard knew.
    “Is that so?” said Lizzie. “Then I suppose it was not you, ma’am, who sent little Janey Minchin a doll for her birthday only last week.”
    Lady Chard hunched a shoulder. “I don’t go cooking their dinner for them, at all events.”
    “No more do I,” said Lizzie briskly, uncomfortable with this talk. Mr. Minchin might be a drunkard, but his wife was a proud woman who would not appreciate the family’s circumstances being bandied about in my lady’s drawing room.
    She sought a means of changing the subject, but for the first time since he’d said her name, Steyne spoke. “Perhaps Miss Allbright would like to go upstairs to freshen her appearance.”
    That made her flush more hotly than before. With what dignity she could muster, Lizzie stood. “No, I thank you. Indeed, I must be going now.”
    The gentlemen had risen when she did. Lydgate looked over at Steyne as if he expected something, but the marquis merely dealt her another of his ironic bows.
    The viscount started forward to take her hand. “Miss Allbright, I hear there is to be an assembly tonight. Would you honor me with the quadrille?”
    Her head jerked up at that. Oh, but this was worse than anything! They were coming to the ball? And if she agreed to dance with Lydgate, would she not be obliged to take the floor with the marquis, too?
    Recalling all too vividly the last physical contact she’d had with Lord Steyne, she felt the hot wash of a blush flood her face.
    “I am engaged for the quadrille, my lord.” It was perfectly true. Mr. Pomfrey had