One Touch of Scandal Read Online Free

need to touch a woman and have himself torn apart in the aftermath. Or to coolly walk out on her as if she were no more than a discarded rag. To leave her sobbing alone in the darkness.
    Even he was not so heartless as that. And yet it was precisely what he had done.
    On that thought, Ruthveyn flung aside the newspaper, rigid with suppressed emotion, until at last Belkadi deigned to appear. The club’s majordomo gave a slight bow, his black suit immaculately pressed, his black hair drawn severely back in an old-fashioned queue.
    â€œYou wished to see me?”
    Belkadi never said sir —not unless it was laced with sarcasm—so Ruthveyn did not expect it of the arrogant devil. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing at a chair. “Have a cup of Assam.”
    â€œVon Althausen’s hybrid?” he replied in his faintly accented English. “Thank you, no. I should prefer to keep the lining of my intestines.” But Belkadi sat, all the same.
    Ruthveyn pushed his paper a little away. “So tell me, old chap, have you ordered your vintner to cease sendingus that red rubbish he calls claret?” he asked. “Or did you simply behead the poor bastard?”
    â€œI think you did not call me here to discuss the cellars,” said Belkadi.
    Ruthveyn smiled faintly but did not quite hold the man’s gaze. “I did not,” he agreed. “I wish to dispense with Mrs. Timmonds. Will you arrange it?”
    Belkadi’s surprise was betrayed by the merest lift of one eyebrow. “Why do you wish this?”
    â€œWhy?” Ruthveyn echoed. “What business is it of yours? Perhaps I have grown tired of the lady. Perhaps my interests are otherwise engaged. Whatever my reasons, you brokered this arrangement. Now un-broker it.”
    A dark look passed behind Belkadi’s eyes. He rose smoothly to his feet, and bowed. “But of course, sir. ”
    Ruthveyn watched the man turn to go, his spine rigid. “And Belkadi,” he said, “one last thing.”
    The majordomo turned back.
    â€œOffer her the use of the Marylebone house for her lifetime,” Ruthveyn added. “And an annuity of whatever amount you think fair. Tell Claytor to make it so.”
    Again, Belkadi gave his stiff bow, his black gaze revealing nothing now. “I shall extend your generous offer,” he said, “but Mrs. Timmonds is not without pride.”
    Or suitors, Ruthveyn silently added.
    The lady would not long grieve his absence, he was sure. Indeed, in a week’s time, she’d be glad to be shut of him. He ruthlessly pushed the vision away and somehow forced his attention to the newspaper, radical rag though it was. A wise man knew his enemies. He read in silence for a time until, on page three, a name caught his eye, and his mouth twisted sourly.
    He looked over his shoulder at von Althausen. “It would appear our favorite reporter has run out of salacious drivelto print and resorted to astronomy,” he said. “He claims Lassell has found another moon round Saturn.”
    â€œHmph!” said the good doctor. “I shall send William my congratulations on his discovery. But as to the whelp, I should have assigned him the obituaries.”
    Ruthveyn gave a grunt of agreement, then turned back to his table and his window. It was at that instant he chanced to see her: a tall woman dressed in black and gray turning purposefully into St. James’s Place from the main thoroughfare.
    Ruthveyn could not have said why she caught his eye; he so rarely looked at anyone. Perhaps it was the veil of black bobbinet, which covered all but the tip of her chin and lent her an air of mystery. Whatever it was, once he’d begun to observe her, he was loath to turn away. Her neat, quick steps carried her closer and closer until, at the point just opposite the half dozen steps that led to club’s entrance, she paused to look up as if studying the symbols etched into the