Julia London Read Online Free

usual, empty flirtations men used to seduce. On the contrary, she was far too clever for it. She had pegged him a roué, and a roué he was—he’d not deny it. But a roué, a rake, could be reformed, could direct all of his attentions on the one woman he might love.
    That meant, of course, that Darien would have to redouble his efforts to woo her, for she was a tough nut—too resilient to his usual charms, and frankly, deserving of something far better than a mere smile and a crook of the finger.
    Fortunately, Darien thought, as he strode down the street to his waiting carriage, he relished the challenge.

Chapter Three

    Emily Forsythe, who had just turned eighteen years of age, was now officially out by virtue of having been presented at court and having made her debut at a magnificent debutante’s ball just one month ago. Now that the coming out was over, she could turn her attention to marriage.
    One bright Sunday morning, she wrote the names of the three men whom she would consider marrying, in order of preference: Lord Montgomery (a bit long in the tooth at two and thirty, but at forty thousand pounds a year, she didn’t mind); Lord Bastian (hardly as old as her, and rather undisciplined, but at thirty thousand pounds a year, worth the effort); and Lord Dillingham (perfectly suited to her in terms of age and temperament, but rumor had it that after some disastrous investment, he now had only twenty thousand pounds a year).
    Emily studied the names. She intended to have an offer from one of them by the peak of the season, preferably at the Charity Auction Ball, an affair Lady Southbridge hosted each year to benefit the local orphanage. Emily had a lovely fantasy of being offered for in front of hundreds of the ton ’s most elite members. She’d be wearing her court dress, of course, but with new gloves and slippers, and when the lucky gentleman made the offer, a round of applause and cheering would go up, and perhaps her friends would toss flowers from their hair to her feet as Montgomery (or Bastian or Dillingham) swept her in his arms in a mad moment of public affection.
    With that happy image playing in her mind’s eye, Emily put aside her pen and drew on her Sunday gloves, found her reticule, and marched out of her room to join her family for church services and the spring social immediately following. She was not the sort to ever miss an opportunity to further her cause, and as two of the gentlemen in question regularly attended church, she counted it as one of her better opportunities.
    When they arrived at the church, Emily’s parents and older brother took some time to greet the many friends and neighbors who had gathered on the church steps this brilliant spring morning. As Emily impatiently waited for her parents, her eyes scanned the crowd; she spotted Montgomery off to one side, speaking with the last vicar’s widow.
    Interesting. Mrs. Becket had put away her widow’s weeds and was wearing a blue brocade gown that Emily thought conspicuously bright for Sunday services. The widow was laughing at something Montgomery said, her eyes crinkled appealingly at the corners. Emily instantly urged her father in that direction, hoping for the chance to converse with Montgomery, but her father was engaged in a lively conversation with Lord Frederick and would not be budged. Emily could do nothing but stand by dutifully.
    But she could watch intently as Montgomery leaned his head close to the widow and said something that made the woman blush. Blush! Imagine it, a widow blushing like a girl! It was, in Emily’s opinion, unseemly.
    When at last it came time to enter the church, the Forsythe family filed in and occupied the third pew to the right of the pulpit, as was their custom. On the second row to the left of the pulpit, Lord Montgomery had joined his sister and her husband, as was his custom. Emily liked this arrangement—she could watch him in the course of the services. Typically, she alternated between