How the Scoundrel Seduces Read Online Free Page A

she’d sought an investigator. Then, like the former army major he was, he would institute draconian measures to keep her close.
    “I shan’t be here long,” she told Ralph. “We’ll easily arrive home in time for dinner, and no one will be the wiser.”
    “If you say so, milady.”
    “I do appreciate this, you know. I’d never wish for you to get into trouble.”
    He sighed. “I know, milady.”
    She meant it, too. She liked Ralph, who’d served as her personal footman ever since Mama’s death last winter. From the beginning, he’d felt sorry for Zoe, “the poor motherless lass.” And if sometimes she shamelessly used that to her advantage, it was only because she had no choice. Time was running out. She’d already had to wait months for Papa to bring her and Aunt Flo to London so she could maneuver this secret meeting.
    They mounted the steps, and Ralph knocked on the door. Then they waited. And waited. She adjusted hercloak, shifted her reticule to her other hand, stamped snow off her boots.
    At last the door opened to reveal a gaunt fellow, wearing an antiquated suit of cobalt-blue silk and a puce waistcoat, who appeared to be headed out.
    “Mr. Shaw!” she cried, both startled and delighted to see him again so soon.
    He peered at her veiled face. “Do I know you, madam?”
    “It’s ‘your ladyship,’ if you please,” Ralph corrected him.
    As Mr. Shaw bristled, Zoe jumped in. “We haven’t been introduced, sir, but I saw you in Much Ado about Nothing last night and thought you were marvelous. I’ve never witnessed an actor play Dogberry so feelingly.”
    His demeanor softened. “And who might you be?”
    “I’m Lady Zoe Keane, and I’m scheduled to meet with the Duke’s Men at three P.M .”
    It wasn’t too much of a lie. A few months ago she’d caught the well-known investigators orchestrating a fake theft in order to capture a kidnapper. In exchange for her silence, they’d agreed to do her a favor at some future date.
    That date was now.
    She only hoped they remembered. Mr. Dominick Manton, the owner, and Mr. Victor Cale, one of his men, both seemed responsible fellows who would honor their promises.
    Mr. Tristan Bonnaud, however . . .
    She tensed. That bullying scoundrel had caught herby surprise, and she hated that. Why, he hadn’t even wanted to agree to the bargain! No telling what he would do if things were left to him.
    “Have you just been here to see the investigators?” she asked Mr. Shaw, who continued to block their way in.
    He grimaced. “Alas, no. Since ‘all the world is a stage,’ I am employed here as well as in the theater. I serve as butler and sometime clerk to Mr. Manton.”
    Oh, dear. She only hoped he wasn’t privy to his employer’s meeting schedule. “In that case, perhaps you should announce me.” When he stiffened, she added hastily, “I would be most honored. What a pity that I didn’t expect you to be here, for then I could have brought my playbill for you to autograph.”
    Given how he arched his eyebrows, that was probably laying it on a bit thick. “What a pity indeed,” he said, but ushered them inside.
    Removing her cloak and veiled hat, she surveyed the foyer. This was more like what she’d expected: simple but elegant mahogany furniture, a beautiful if inexpensive Spanish rug, and nice damask draperies of a pale yellow. The décor could use a bit of dash—perhaps some ancient daggers on the walls for effect—but then, she always liked more dash than other people.
    Besides, the newspapers told enough daring tales about the Duke’s Men to make up for any lack of dash in their offices. Supposedly they could find anyone anywhere. She dearly hoped that was true.
    “I don’t believe the gentlemen are present at the moment.” Mr. Shaw kept eyeing the front door witha peculiar expression of longing. “They must have forgotten your appointment. Perhaps you should return later.”
    “Oh, but that’s impossible!” she burst out.
    When