For the Love of a Soldier Read Online Free Page B

Themurderous trap could be set for him this very night. The way her evening was going, that would be the case.
    Intent on her plan, she started forward only to stop short. She could not speak to a magistrate. He would never listen to her because she was nobody. Lady Alexandra Langdon had never attended the Duke of Hammond’s ball, Alex Daniels had. She cringed at the thought of donning her disguise in the light of day before the authorities of the law, no less. No, absolutely not. She drew the line at how far she was willing to go. Deceiving the ton to relieve them of surplus funds was one matter; lying to an official of the law another matter altogether. One was a case of survival, the other suicidal.
    Blast it. She should just let Kendall be killed.
    She spun and paced the long corridor. No, she couldn’t. She owed him. Now she could repay him. Her debt would be wiped clean. Her life in exchange for his seemed a fair exchange. She would warn Kendall about this murderous plot, but she could give him no more, unable to accurately identify either man if ever located. A warning was all she had to offer.
    She started forward but again paused. Like the magistrate, Kendall would never listen to her. He hadn’t earlier when she offered to repay her debt.
    He wanted nothing from her.
    Typical arrogant male. She pursed her lips and reconsidered the matter. Well then, she wouldn’t tell him to his face. She would write him a note, sign it anonymously, and have a butler deliver it to him in the card room. She ventured forward once more. It was a plan…of sorts. The best she could muster under the circumstances.
    The man had survived the Charge of the Light Brigade. He had ridden through the valley of death, the mouth of hell, cannons storming him with shot and shell. He must have a talent for facing life-threatening situations and surviving against all odds.

Chapter Three

G ARRETT Sinclair, the Earl of Kendall, scowled at the man sitting opposite him. What was his name? Viscount Currans? His cologne seeped across the card table. The fop must have bathed in the scent. And what in God’s name was he wearing? Since when had peacock-colored cravats come into style? Though, it looked better than Morley’s dazzling green jacket. Its glare blinded a man.
    Garrett stiffened in his seat, appalled at his thoughts.
    Bloody hell. He didn’t give a good Goddamn what the dandies wore. His only concern lay in what lined the fops’ pockets or, rather, filled their trust funds. And he was fast losing interest in that.
    He never should have come. He’d known it the minute he had arrived and the Duke of Hammond’s butler announced his name in that portentous, booming baritone. The shock of it had plunged like a boulder into still waters, creating a ripple effect that spread across the room. Silence had been followed with the slow rising crescendo of murmurs. He had forgotten how fast and furious tongues wagged at the slightest whiff of news.
    And sadly, he was news.
    Ever since he’d stepped out into society, he’d had the unfortunate penchant for greasing the gossip mill. Years later, he still paid the price for his younger days of carousing stupidity. One would think his two-year absence would have eradicated people’s memories or supplant them with some other fool’s exploits. Currans, for example. The ass bragged about the actress he had brazenly escorted to Lady Monroe’s garden party. Shouldn’t that trump his rumored duel with Samson?
    Garrett couldn’t even remember who the hell their duel was touted to have been about. Samson’s wife or his mistress? He did recall that neither woman was worth it. Thankfully, Samson had agreed, and they had both gotten amicably drunk toasting their mutual opinion. Even if he lived down the story, there were others to top it and that explained why he had purchased his commission. Joining the lancers had also had the added benefit of thwarting his imperious, pompous ass of a stepfather.
    But