To Love a Wicked Scoundrel Read Online Free PDF Page A

by every member of the ton, including distinguished gentlemen and aged dowagers. Such a unilateral collection of admirable traits struck her as uncommonly rare. Rather like a unicorn or a four-leaf clover. Surely
Lord
Perfection
possessed some kind of flaw. Yet every article craftily depicted his clandestine indiscretions as romantic, his excessive indulgence as grandiose.
    ‘Well, I wish you luck in your conquest. I believe if we become separated we will never find each other until the dinner bell rings. There are far too many people crammed into this ballroom. I sincerely hope no one overturns a candle.’ Isabelle ended her complaint with a little squeak and moved her slipper before a nearby gentleman trod upon her toe.
    ‘I agree, isn’t it wonderful?’ Meredith scrutinised each passing guest in search of her quarry.
    Isabelle was happy to leave her to the task as she had no intention of crossing the wicked earl’s path. And if ever she had the notion, which she absolutely did not, how would she even approach him? It sounded as though the man was forever surrounded by dozens of twittering females and raucous upstarts. Perhaps the obsequious mob was needed to support his exaggerated reputation.
    The musicians took up their instruments and as she stood on the cusp of the marble floor, dance card on her wrist and champagne glass in hand, Isabelle could almost hear Meredith’s rehearsed plan of strategy and see her stepmother’s diligent gaze darting around the room. Any stranger would assume the lady had something in her eye or was bothered by the huge candle filled chandeliers that bathed the dance floor in soft golden hues. Isabelle rolled her eyes and caught a glance of the elaborate crystal lighting overhead. The shimmering display gave her pause.
    The ballroom did look uncommonly beautiful if she allowed herself to appreciate it. Every colour of the rainbow was represented by the
beau monde’s
extravagant mode of dress. Ample arrangements of flowers graced each available surface not covered with syllabub, sweets and savouries. Much to her delight, Isabelle had noticed a rare bouquet of tulips on the entryway chiffonier as they had whisked though the doorway earlier. Servants bustled about and elegant laughter wafted over the delicate strains of the orchestra. The evening
did
feel a little enchanted. She took a small sip of champagne and rationalised how it proved impractical to be ensconced in the ballroom and not take full advantage of the situation. Isabelle prided herself on resourcefulness.
    With a bemused smile, she relaxed in her new satin slippers. How she had fussed and complained throughout the entire shopping trip to Bond Street, protesting she had no time for foolish vanity. But now she could not be happier she had heeded Meredith’s advice. Dressed in a deep glittering shade of green, she complemented the lovely ladies surrounding her. An unfamiliar, but welcomed feeling washed over her.
    ***
    Constantine Highborough, Earl of Colehill, was not currently ensconced in conversation with a bevy of fluttering females, nor otherwise occupied with a Johnny raw anxious to copy his style or listen to tales of his exploits. Instead, he’d retreated to the study with his closest friends to enjoy an aged brandy courtesy of Lord Rochester’s liquor cabinet. Beside him, Devlin Ravensdale, Duke of Wharncliffe, and Phineas Betcham, Viscount Fenhurst, discussed the purchase of a new barouche. The three of them enjoyed a solid friendship although Devlin rarely mixed with society. Phineas, the tallest and most reserved, balanced family obligations with social responsibilities. He presented himself as a fine gentleman and was considered a prime husband candidate by those who compiled such lists. A stark contrast to Devlin, a dark, reclusive man who lived in secret and shadow. Yet no matter their differences, the men had formed a strong bond, one for which Constantine was grateful.
    For the umpteenth time his thoughts