My Lord Rogue Read Online Free

box she’d chosen, the Duke of Bedford, was in the country . How would she know this? Had she rented the box from Bedford?
    It was a matter of pride to always be one step ahead of friend or foe. He trusted very few men. Lucien had been one of them. He’d not failed to monitor his counterpart’s whereabouts, until a mere slip of a woman had managed to blindside him. Why?
    For the life he’d assured her, she owed him gratitude. He would no sooner deny her an audience than deny himself breath. And in good conscience, he couldn’t walk away without knowing whether or not his mind had jumped to conclusions or if she was still in Lucien’s safekeeping.
    Determined to get to the bottom of whatever had brought Gillian to the theater, Simon took the curtains in hand and stepped inside Bedford’s box . At the very thought of being in her presence, his heart, the damned beating entity, threatened to burst from his chest. Irrational organ!
    It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the bright lights shimmering from the stage, charging the darkness of the box with uncontrollable energy. When he could see clearly, he gave Gillian’s body a raking gaze. She stood erect with her back to the entrance, shoulders firmly set, breath shallow. His maddening arrogance faltered at the sight of her . It took every ounce of his strength not to rush to her and pull her close, so flustered was he by her mere nearness.
    “I knew it would only be a matter of time before you came here. Still, I had hoped to fool you — of all people — the most.”
    Fool him? Why? “I prefer to think you wouldn’t desire to fool me.”
    His heart jolted and his pulse pounded in his ears as he waited for her to respond. She didn’t. He stepped closer, anxiously removing his gloves, tempted beyond reason to lay his hand on her shoulder and turn her around to face him. Fool! He wasn’t an anxious man. Eager, yes, but anxious? When had he begun to exhibit that emotion? Ah, he remembered. One other time. The day he ’d heard Gillian say, “I do ,” and watched her walk away with Lucien Chauncey’s ring on her finger.
    “I have ceased to care what you prefer, my lord,” she replied with admirable severity.
    Ceased to care? The barb cut deep, more thoroughly than the old wound on his side. He didn’t blame her. Hating him made it easier. He couldn’t bear the thought of her pining for him all those many years, as he’d pined for her.
    “Humph.” Eager and erratic like a summer storm, a vexing combination of emotions he rarely embodied, he removed his hat. Irritated that his affections could be so easily diverted , he brushed his hair back away from his face. What must Gillian think of him? And if she was as affected by their last parting as he expected, why had she broken her promise never to return to London? Hadn’t she known he would find her — that he would always find her? Was that what she feared? What she wanted? Inside, a small seed of hope threatened to sprout.
    He cleared his throat. “I had hoped that time would heal both our wounds.”
    “Some wounds never heal.”
    Why wouldn’t she turn around? It was all he could do to stand four feet away from her without reaching out to turn her toward him. How foolish of him to desire her still. How ridiculously he’d labored over the choices he’d made. Aghast, he tightened his grip on his top hat to keep from acting upon the inclination to do anything untoward, even though every inch of him throbbed to grab her and kiss her soundly. In reality, the distance between them had grown exponentially.
    Hypocrite! Bloody fool! You are married. She is married to someone else.
    “That would depend on the injury,” he said, hoping to draw her out.
    Her bitter laughter unsettled him. “What if the cut is too deep, my lord?”
    Her brutal honesty tore through him. While he wanted to explain away the past, he was quite aware of the opera glasses focused on them, of the public eyes searching for a glimpse