Wicked Wager Read Online Free PDF Page B

bonhomie, which Celeste recognised for what it was: a deliberate attempt to wheedle more out of Sir Samuel.
    â€˜Jilted at the altar? Yes, I heard it, but this is old news. Poor young woman. Have you any idea why?’ Dry-mouthed, Celeste asked the question required of her, relieved when Sir Samuel raised his palms in a gesture of helplessness. ‘The question is on everyone’s lips, Miss Rosington.’
    â€˜As is the whereabouts of the prospective groom, no doubt.’ Celeste, though still highly discomposed by her recent encounter, was sharp enough to seize her opportunity. It would be one less matter to displease Raphael when he called her to account later that evening.
    Sir Samuel raised his eyes heavenward. ‘The man has not yet settled his account after I won a tidy sum from him just before he went to Jamaica. Now he is back, but disappeared within a day of disembarking upon English soil. Miss Paige is not the only one who would like to know where Harry Carstairs is.’
    Celeste was aware of Raphael’s eyes trained on her. Waiting. Obediently she asked, ‘Has there been no word from Mr Carstairs at all? I believe he was visiting his plantation in Jamaica and had returned to England to claim an inheritance and marry Miss Paige. Perhaps he received a chilly reception from Miss Paige and decided returned to warmer climes.’
    Sir Samuel smiled thinly. ‘I hope not. If he’s on the high seas then I will not see what’s owed me, will I?’ He changed the subject. ‘You’re looking uncommonly fetching this evening, Miss Rosington, if it’s not too bold to say in front of your intended. I’m sure the end of the month can’t come soon enough, when you’ll become mistress of estates, both here and in Jamaica, and the envy of half the women of the realm.’
    This time it was Celeste’s turn to offer what was, at best, a thin smile in return. ‘Indeed, Sir Samuel,’ she replied, touching her lips, which still burned from the most exciting, illicit kiss she’d ever experienced.

Chapter Three
    During a brief moment of solitude in his dressing room, Peregrine leaned over his desk, searching for answers in the puzzling ruins of the message contained in the gold locket his sister had thrust unceremoniously at him. He’d have preferred to have remained in his red velvet upholstered armchair, enjoying the quiet and the warmth of the fire in his dressing room, but soon Nelson would be on hand to dress him for a dinner he was to attend in honour of his old friend, Lord Cowdril, for his elevation to the House of Lords. A house party attended by more guests would follow.
    Straining to see the letters more clearly in the weak light, he traced his forefinger over the crumpled, partly destroyed parchment: ‘este mmediately …’
    Charlotte maintained that ‘este’ referred to the last letters of Miss Rosington’s Christian name, but Perry was not convinced. He tapped the tiny locket, which had also contained the miniature of Charlotte behind which the scrap of paper had been hidden, stuck to the glue when the rest of the note had presumably been torn out. When the time was right he’d find a way to bring up with Miss Rosington the subject of that night, when the locket had been lost. First, though, he had to gain her trust.
    He smiled, savouring the image he had of her, all wide-eyed horror at the scandal of the month—for of course she’d deny involvement initially—before he once again plundered her mouth.
    While she, of course, would be entirely amenable. No … he smiled. Delightfully responsive.
    His mood was lightened by the arrival of the dignified Nelson, with whom he struck up a lively conversation on the evils of strong liquor. Nelson made him laugh like few others of his acquaintance. Nelson’s keen eye also ensured Perry appeared a cut above the rest, which tonight had him dressed in a