The Dangerous Lord Read Online Free Page A

place.”
    â€œOh. Well, you wait here, luv, and I’ll fetch the article.”
    â€œActually,” he began as she started for the imposing oak staircase, “Mr. Pilkington wanted me to speak to your master in person.”
    â€œMy master?” A bewildered expression deepened the lines on her forehead. Then she burst into laughter. “That Mr. Pilkington, he’s so naughty. Didn’t tell you, did he?”
    â€œTell me what?”
    â€œNever mind. I won’t spoil his little joke. I’ll go tell the ‘master’ you’re here.” She lifted her skirts and took her time about ascending the stairs, all the while murmuring, “The master, eh?” between little fits of laughter.
    He stared after her. Odd servant. She hadn’t even taken his coat and hat. And was there no butler, no footman? What an eccentric household.
    Crossing to a cast-iron hat rack, he set his coat and hat on it, then surveyed the marble foyer. Six years as a spy had taught him how to use observation to unearth a subject’s secrets, but these surroundings were as enigmatic as their owner.
    An understated room, devoid of the gimcrackery some preferred. A mahogany lowboy that held only a silver salver for letters. The tall mirror above it continued the griffin motif in small, delicate carvings. It was strange that a man who wrote so boldly about society’s underbelly could have such refined tastes.
    Perhaps the man’s wife was responsible for the décor. That would explain the feminine touches—an edging of lace here, a softened line there. But if a woman was in the picture, why was the house so ill kept? The banister’s brass fittings badly needed polish and the carpets needed sweeping. Where were the servants busily working at this time of the morning? The strong scent of tallow meant the man couldn’t afford beeswax, but that wasn’t so unusual.
    As time dragged, Ian began to pace impatiently. He wanted this done, so he could go to Katherine’s and settle this marriage business once and for all. He’d delayed seeing her since the column’s appearance, telling himself she needed time to get over whatever pain the article had caused her. People already murmured behind her back,about her plain looks, timid manner, and poor chances of finding a husband. To have the allegedly beautiful mistress of her prospective fiancé lauded in the paper would torture Katherine, so he’d told himself his presence would only make it worse.
    But he was a bloody liar, and he knew it. The truth was, when he was with her, he wanted to be somewhere else. It continually irked him the way she either agreed with his every word or remained utterly silent. When she did attempt conversation, her naïveté annoyed him.
    Most men would be pleased to have a naïve docile wife. Indeed, he’d chosen her precisely because she would cause no trouble, especially in his fight against his uncle. So why did the thought of marrying her make his blood run cold?
    He wouldn’t think of that. He would marry her, no matter what his selfish impulses protested. She suited his requirements. Besides, indulging one’s most powerful emotions inevitably led to ruin. One must think before one acted, ignoring the siren call of desire or even anger. He’d learned that most painfully ten years ago, and his efforts to banish such temptations had ensured his survival ever since. They would also be what won him this current battle, not only with Lord X, but with his bastard of an uncle.
    He strode toward the stairs, then retraced his steps. That’s when the ceiling caved in. A whoosh behind him made him whirl around in time to see a hunk of plaster hit the floor inches from where he’d been standing.
    His eyes narrowed. No, not plaster. He kicked at it. When it crumbled, then clung stickily to his boot, he was surprised to discover that the misshapen blob was actually a pile of dirty