Meet Me at Midnight Read Online Free Page A

at him for another moment, thenpushed away from the wall and stalked over to yank open the door. “It’s Milo, my lord.”
    Not the least bit surprised that his valet had defied him, nor at the identity of his visitor, Sinclair went to work on his chin. “Thank you, Roman. Why don’t you see what he wants?”
    “I would, my lord, but he still isn’t speaking to me.”
    Somehow, whenever Roman said “my lord,” it sounded like a euphemism for “halfwit.” With a sigh, Sin dropped his razor into the shaving bowl. Picking up a towel, he climbed to his feet and faced the doorway. “Yes, Milo?”
    The butler stepped past Roman, making a point of not looking at the stocky gargoyle of a valet. “The post just delivered a letter for you, my lord. From a Lady Stanton.”
    Milo’s tone wasn’t much friendlier than the absolute silence with which he favored Roman. Sin wiped the remaining shaving soap from his face. “Thank you.” The butler handed over the missive, and his employer pocketed the folded paper without looking at it. “Milo, did you often interrupt my brother’s toilette to bring him insignificant correspondence?”
    The butler flushed. “No, my lord.” He lifted his pointed chin. “But I do not yet know your routine. Nor was I aware that the letter was insignificant. I apologize if I was in error.”
    “Apology accepted. Please send Lady Stanton a bouquet of red roses, with my compliments. And inform Mrs. Twaddle that I will not be taking my dinner here this evening.”
    Milo nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
    “Milo.”
    The butler turned around. “Yes, my lord?”
    Sinclair granted him a dark smile. “Never mind about Lady Stanton. I’ll see to her myself.”
    “I…yes. As you wish, my lord.”
    As soon as the butler’s heels passed over the threshold, Roman shut the door on him. “You should hand that Mr. Highboots his papers.”
    Sin shrugged as he returned to his dressing table. “Milo’s a competent enough butler.”
    “Well, I don’t like the idea of you keeping your brother’s staff on. One of ’em might just put a ball through your head some night.”
    “I don’t want them out of my sight—or my reach.” Dropping back into his chair, Sinclair gestured at a jacket laid out on the large, rumpled bed. “And I am not wearing that blue monstrosity to call on my future father-in-law.”
    “It’s conservative.”
    “Exactly. He might approve it, and then where would I be? Get me the beige and cream.”
    “You’ll look like a rake.”
    “I am a rake, you idiot. And I have no intention of letting Stiveton forget that for one damned minute.”
    He pulled out the letter and opened it, stifling a grin as he caught the valet’s disgruntled expression in the dressing mirror. Swiftly he perused the contents and then sank back, scowling. First the ton was trying to foist a surprise wedding on him, and now this. When bad news came to call, it always seemed to bring company.
    “Fine. Call me an idiot if you want,” the valet grumbled from the dressing closet. “But you’re the one got trapped into marrying Vixen Fontaine, on his first proper jaunt back in London.”
    “I didn’t get trapped into anything. I made a pointwith Marley.” He couldn’t even say the bastard’s name without growling.
    “And the marriage?”
    “That was just my way of avoiding being stoned and run out of London.”
    “Ah.”
    “‘Ah’ yourself. No father in his right mind would allow his daughter to marry me. Everyone’s simply laboring under the misconception that I’d be safer if I were leg-shackled to some poor female.” Sinclair read the letter once more, looking for any hopeful sign. “Bates sends his greetings, by the by.”
    “He’d better. He owes me ten quid, that lad does.” Finally the proper clothes appeared on the bed, and the valet sauntered back to the dressing table. “Who’s Lady Stanton, anyway?”
    “Some dowager living in Scotland. Wally’s great great twice removed